Wicked Callings
by DrunkerThenYou
Summary: Alistair and Mira Mahariel make some disturbing discoveries in the Palace. Leading Zevran and The Warden to find that Haven wasn't the only active Cult in Thedas, and they have more uses for a Warden other then stopping a Blight.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first Fan Fiction, which is somehow more intimidating then "My First Chemistry Set". Huge Thanks to ZevGirl for saving me from a dark hole of grammatical errors. Please R&R.

**Wicked Callings**

Once Upon a Blight

"Once Upon A Time...There Lived A Royal Bastard!" Mira snickered while holding a rather large deteriorating book.

"Hey! That's not what it says!" Alistair sneered, grabbing the book away from her.

"Oww!" Mira shook her right hand furiously, giving him a pouty look and sucking on her finger."You gave me a paper cut!" She thrust out her pointer finger. "See!"

Alistair rolled his eyes at her.

A cloud of dust escaped the old tome as he flipped through its pages. Coughing and sneezing, Mira batted a hand in front of her face futilely trying to combat the assault on her nose and throat. He shot her a sidelong glance and smirked. She sneezed again.

"Serves you right." He smiled at her, offering her a handkerchief, her green eyes now bright and shining behind the watery redness.

She sneezed again.

"Bless you," he chuckled, watching her struggle. She gave him a mischievous glare as she wiped the snot from her face. Smiling again, Mira dangled the damp cloth by two fingers, offering it back to him.

"No…you keep it, something to remember me by," he said, wrinkling up his nose in exaggerated disgust.

They had followed up on a discovery made by Oghren the previous night. He was acting on a tip from one of the guards, about where to find hidden spirits. In a small storage pantry located under a staircase in the north tower, he had been trying to pry open a dusty crate when he fell backward through a false wall. After waking up several hours later with a headache, he was elated to discover several bottles of fine rum.

Behind the false wall lay a long hallway that ended with a door. Alistair broke it down.

The light from their torch revealed a small foyer. Mira picked up one of the stray books scattered on the floor.

Alistair leaned over her. "What does it say?" This had led to the demise of her sinuses.

Alistair's eyes darted around the dim hallway as he lit a small torch by the wall. It startled him as it erupted in flame, the large open mouth of what looked to be a stone impression of a demon's head screaming. Eyeballing the wretched sconce, he stated, "Oh lovely, I'll have to speak to someone about their rather odd choices in interior decoration."

Mira laughed and replied, "Yes, do remind me to pick up a few of these for my house... so inviting."

"Be sure to pick up some for Morrigan as well," he sneered. "Seems more her style. Nothing says 'I'm carrying an archdemon baby more than a proper set of screaming demon night lights to warm the atmosphere."

Mira looked at him oddly, cocking her head to the left and pondering all the sarcastic comments racing through her head. She opened her mouth to speak when he cut her off.

"Not a word!" he said, pointing at her.

Still looking at him, the corners of her mouth turned upward into a devilish grin, and she took a step into the room. Her right foot hit something she was not expecting, causing her to stumble forward trying to find some form of solid ground. There was little to be found, as her feet flew backward out from under her. With a loud thump, she hit the ground face first, cursing, as her body slid to a stop.

Alistair lit the second Sconce. He let out a howl of a laugh as he saw Mira, laying face down, fumbling over her unseen conflict.

At her feet lay the pile of books she so eloquently stumbled over.

"She overcame a Blight, but was defeated by..." He waved his hand in a grand gesture. "...a pile of books." He composed himself, still laughing as he offered her a hand. "Whoever said 'the pen is mightier than the sword', was a wise man, I'll give him that..." She shot him a dirty look as he helped her to stand.

Ancient books and scrolls lay strewn in piles all over the floor beneath the rows of shelves. A small yet well-equipped apothecary desk sat to the left. In the center of the room stood a desk; upon it a quill, some neatly stacked books, and a few small bottles. A thick layer of dust covered just about everything in the room. They circled around it cautiously, in opposite directions, finally meeting in the center of the room by the desk. Mira began examining the books carefully stacked in groups on the floor. She had only begun to study each individual tome, when Alistair spoke up.

"Look at this."

As she rounded the desk, she noticed several sheets of parchment on which symbols were drawn, followed by line after line of notes written in a language neither of them had ever seen. She positioned herself near Alistair as he examined one of three small bottles arranged on the corner of the table. They briefly stared at each other, contemplating their observation.

"Look," Alistair pointed out, "Look here." He traced his fingertip over a carved impression in the table. Mira removed a stack of books revealing more of the strange symbol.

Clearing off the rest of the table, they stood back surveying the image.

"Are those scotch marks?" he asked, knowingly.

"And another over here," she answered quickly.

"Is there a history of strange, secret alchemists in Denerim?" she questioned him, a look of concern passing over her brow.

"None that I have ever heard of, but that would be the point of the whole 'secret thing', wouldn't it?" He glanced around the room, puzzled.

"You would think being King would make you privy to such information," she said, still examining the desk.

"Mmm, I didn't expect anyone to hand me a crown and say 'Oh, by the way, Alistair, don't mind the secret order of blood mages stashed away in the cellar, next to the wine." He casually strolled around the room.

"Blood mages?" Her eyes widened in disdain. "You think?" She curled her lip in a grimace. "I hate those guys!"

"I'm not entirely sure," he glanced up, looking at her. "Most estates and large villages have their healers, and mostly, they're always escorted by Templar's." A look of concern washed over his face "…but nothing like this."

"What do you suppose we should do?" She looked at him utterly confused. Pausing for a moment, she continued, "After all, you're the King," she smirked.

His eyes squinted at her. "For now, I think it's best we keep this to ourselves, lest we incite yet another wave of panic." His face remained serious.

"Well, it was _so_ much fun the first time." She patted him the shoulder

"Riiiight," he chuckled, suddenly feeling famished. "Are you hungry?"

"Now that I think about it, I'm starving. Didn't we just eat?" she answered.

"We did just eat, but I could eat a horse right now," he said rubbing his belly.

"This isn't a tainted blood thing, is it? I'm not going to become ravenously hungry and grow to the size of a broodmother, am I?" Her eyes widened.

"I'm not sure. I've never met another female Grey Warden... Maybe..." He looked at her playfully. "Maybe, you'll get so fat it will take ten high dragons just to make you one chest piece."

She glared at him, "Shut it!" and punched him.

"Ow, that hurt!" He rubbed his arm. "You've got a good right!"

"I've been training." She smiled coyly, momentarily glancing at the ground.

"Oh, is that what you and Zevran are calling it these days?" He put a friendly arm around her, "I have heard you make less noise while screaming profanity at GIANT spiders."

"BLECK...!" She shuddered and recoiled from him, her fingers crunching into claws. "I HATE SPIDERS!" she shouted, screwing up her face tightly and sticking out her tongue.

He smiled and laughed at her. "Shall we go then?" he asked offering her an arm.

"Spiders!" he said abruptly.

"BLECK!" She cringed again and they disappeared down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Introducing King Handsome**

Lamp light flickered long shadows against the walls, as they made their way back to the dining hall. It had gotten dark and the moon hung low in the night sky. They had departed shortly after lunch; it should have been sunset at the latest. They spoke in unsaid words, agreeing that it was strange.

Save for Oghren, Zevran and several guards, everyone had retired to their quarters for the evening. The pair sat at one end of the large dining table. The dwarf, Oghren, was swerving slowly in his chair trying his best to remain upright. Zevran sat across from him pouring over a pile of documents.

"Iz that all of them?" he yawned, leaning half hunched on his elbows, wearily entertaining a chalice of wine.

Oghren swayed back in his chair, counting the fingers on one hand, twice. He let out a loud belch. "Err...um...ya...There was that guy..." he said pointing to a sleeping guard by the door.

Zevran sighed. "Yes, yes you said dis, his name is Charley." Throwing him a sharp glare, Zevran began naming off the remaining guards, who were at this point, either passed out or pissed off. "Frank, Rudolph, Leon..." Zevran drummed his fingers on the table.

"Aye! Leon! That's the guy!" Oghren exploded. "That's THE GUY! The one I was tellin' ya about! He knows everything!" He swiveled around pointing roughly to a guard still standing by the door.

"Again...you still have not explained what exactly 'everything' entitles, no?" Zevran stated again, this time taking a pull from the wine bottle.

"Sodding elves! This guy knows every hiding place for booze and ale!" Oghren pushed his chair back and struggled to stand before staggering towards Leon.

Mira and Alistair meandered their way across the large room, surveying the scene taking place before them. Oghren continued the appraisal of his newfound friend. "And...it's not the cheap stuff either.." Oghren belched, as he toppled over face first onto the floor. The Guard stared at him, unsure of what to do.

"He'll be fine," Mira nodded at the guard. "This is how he always sleeps." She added, grinning as she slipped in a seat next to Zevran, who smiled and chuckled.

"Iz true." He looked up at the guard from his paper work. "There was that one evening, when he managed to be offended by his own armor." Zevran sat up further, a broad smile on his face.

Alistair interjected, choking back a laugh, "As I remember, the helmet won."

Zevran shook his head. "Yes, no one winz in a head butt, especially with your own helmet."

Oghren, slowly came into consciousness, and pulled himself off the floor. "I heard that! Blasted Helmet deserved it! Lookin' at me all funny!"

Gravity took an overwhelming play, as he fell back to the floor, rolling himself over in the process. "I'll just sleep heee..ere" he started, partially snoring as he sank back into unconsciousness .

"You do dat, my friend," Zevran replied with a chuckle.

He, along with the help of Leliana, was in the process of creating a census of every guard and every servant working in the castle. This had proven to be a daunting task as Oghren was of little to no use at remembering names, or faces for that matter.

A servant girl shuffled into the room. Her striking pale blue eyes were a complete contrast to the bland grey uniform she wore. Long brown hair brushed against her shoulders as she looked down hesitantly before stepping over the snoring dwarf. Two other servant girls followed suit, hands full of plates and goblets. Seeming slightly nervous, the lead servant girl bowed to Alistair. "Greetings Your Majesty."

Mira chuckled softly, watching Alistair groan. The brunette motioned to the other two girls, and they hurriedly spread the filled plates and goblets in front of Mira and Alistair.

The girl scurried backward and bowed again. "Is there anything you require, Your Majesty?"

Alistair exhaled heavily, glancing at the grin on Mira's face. "Thank you, no," he said with a sigh.

Zevran quickly grabbed her by the wrist, startling her. "I do apologize, my dear..." A small seductive grin crossed his face. "I do not believe you have been properly introduced." Still gazing at the girl, he continued. "This iz Mona, I must compliment your mother one day on her excellent choice in names," he said with a wave of his hand. Mona blushed slightly. Shifting his view to Mira, he continued, "And dis iz the, lovely," he took a pause to shoot her a sly grin, "Grey Warden, Mira."

Mona bowed. "Pleased to meet you, my Lady."

With another wave of his hand he directed her attention to the other side of the table. "Mona, dis is..." A sarcastic smile crossed his face, "King Alistair."

Alistair shot him a dirty look, before addressing her. "Pleased to meet you, Mona"

"Thank you, your Majesty" she gushed as she took a longer bow and exited the room swiftly, glancing at Zevran and bearing a shy grin before closing the door.

Alistair lowered his eyes and turned toward Zevran. "Why don't I ever get introduced with lovely...perhaps not lovely," he corrected himself. "Handsome, or charming maybe?" He sat back shaking his head, "No, it's all Your Majesty, or Sire, or Highness," he said in a mocking tone.

Sitting back in his chair folding his arms Zevran nodded once. "Yes, from now on I shall introduce you as King Charming."

Alistair groaned placing his hand on his forehead. "Forget I said anything"

Mira couldn't help but laugh as Alistair shook off his frustration by taking a large sip of wine.

"It could be worse," she snickered. "We could introduce you as King Handsome." Both Zevran and Mira broke into full laughter.

"Not you too!" Alistair threw his hands up in defeat.

There was a snort and a grunt from the corner of the room. "Heh...'snort', King Handsome...heh heh heh," Oghren muttered and passed out again.

Alistair couldn't resist as a smile warmed over him. Amidst their laughter, he didn't notice Zevran slide a hand onto Mira's knee. He smiled warmly at her, and she wrapped her fingers around his.

Alistair slid one of the pages of parchment closer to him. "I see, you have been getting to know the help?" he stated raising an eyebrow.

Sliding the paper back, Zevran smirked, "You could, say dat..."

He took a breath to continue as Leliana stepped into the room. "I have five more pages, for you..." She trailed off, noticing her other two friends.  
"Oh, you're back," she said smiling. "We were starting to worry."

Alistair and Mira exchanged glances, "Strange, we only thought we were down there for a few hours," Mira answered her.

Leliana handed the papers to Zevran, "It was more like eight hours." he answered stacking the pages and laying them down.

Leliana looked to Mira, and gave her a warm smile. Turning her eyes to Zevran, she continued. "Some of us were _more_ concerned than others."

Alistair chimed in, "Oh, Zevran were you worried about little me?" he smiled, cocking his head to the side.

Zevran, calling his bluff, took him by the hand, and lowered his gaze seductively, "Why, yes...How did you know."

Alistair recoiled in horror. "Eww, now I feel dirty..." Ignoring the snickering, he backed up his chair "On that note I think I shall retire for the evening."

"Oh Alistair, Zevran was just joking." Leliana cooed.

"Indeed, King Charming, you are not my type, as it were." Zevran folded his arms in satisfaction.

Alistair bid goodnight to Leliana and Mira, scoffing at Zevran as he left the room.

"He'll be fine." Mira, waved him off, feeling weary herself.

Leliana took his seat. "I haven't been able to locate the previous census. It should have been updated when Loghain stole the throne." She twisted her face in frustration. "No matter," she yawned. "I'll continue to search for it tomorrow." She stood from the table and stretched. "I just came by to deliver my latest list, before turning in." She smiled and leaned in to hug Mira. "Good to see you are safe." Leliana turned and headed to her room.

Mira smiled warily at Zevran. "We were fine, just lost track of time is all. You two worry too much."

The corners of his mouth curved into a smirk. "Worried? Not I, no." He rolled his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Curious as to what two Grey Wardens might have gotten into, for so many hours, but not worried." There was a slight undertone of jealously in his voice that she so often heard when referring to anything Alistair related. This frustrated her, yet made her smile, knowing that was one of the subtle ways he showed his affection for her, outside the bedroom.

"Well, we did make an interesting discovery." She started, "But it was the wild bareback bronto sex that took the most time," she teased him.

Zevran chuckled at the thought. "I'm sure you can fill me in on dis later." He cupped a hand to her cheek. "You can leave out de bit about the bronto, however."

"Aww, but that was the fun part!"

Mira laughed as Zevran gathered up the papers and finished the remaining bit of wine in his chalice, and the two headed off to their room. She stripped off her leathers, carefully placing them on a chair, before donning a night slip. Zevran slid into the bed, au natural, as he so often did when they weren't traveling.

"I do not understand why you choose to wear dat," he yawned, stretching.

Mira ran her hands down the sides of her body, looking at herself in the mirror as she did so. It was a sheer silvery color, cut low in the back, almost knee length with long slits cut in the sides. A present from Leliana, not as if she needed a boost in her sex life.

"I like the way it feels, and looks." Mira said as she wiggled her hips at him.

He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back on the bed. "I prefer de way it looks on the floor."

She glanced at him sidelong and let out a "humph" as she slid into bed next to him. They awoke the following morning to a knock on the door. Mira picked up the slip off the floor, throwing it over her head as Zevran answered the door. He returned a moment later and handed her the parchment.

"Leliana wants me to meet her for lunch and a dress fitting." She moaned, wearily.

Zevran sat down beside her on the bed, chuckling softly, "Ahh, yet another garment dat will look marvelous on the floor."


	3. Chapter 3

ch.3

**The Masque**

The gala started early, as the guests slowly arrived. Carriage after carriage of pompous, gaudy Nobles were shown to their accommodations. Servants were running amuck through the halls as demands were made.

Leliana accompanied Zevran, into the Great Hall. Six inches taller than the Elf, they were quite the spectacle. Leliana's vivid red hair, pulled up into a braided bun, accented by a simple gold headpiece with a single emerald teardrop that hung in the center of her forehead. Her gown was cut low against her chest; long flowing sleeves draped her slender arms, trimmed in gold embroidery.

Zevran was looking as handsome as ever. A brown jacket fastened across his chest with leather buckles. Beige pants accentuating the curves of his posterior, tucked into leather boots that laced up crossing over his knees and lower thighs. A single ornate sword slung from a belt, hung low on his hips.

The guards announced him as Master Arainai as they descended the stairs.

"I am not a master," he murmured to Leliana,

"Just go with it," she hissed, giggling in his ear. "What would you rather him have said?" She lowered her voice, "Lady Leliana, escorted by that assassin who tried to murder the Wardens that one time?" mocking the guards tone.

"Mmm...No, I think not," he replied.

She chuckled softly, "Might I add that you look quite handsome, Zevran."

"You are looking especially ravishing dis evening as well, my dear," he said staring at her luridly. "I am very much enjoying the view," he said, his chin just barely rising above her breasts.

Noticing the great difference in height, she laughed. "It's the shoes. They make me much taller."

"This I do not mind," he said smirking while offering her an arm. "Shall we?"

Mira was being fussy. Servants were working furiously trying to make her sit still while they braided and tended to her hair. They fastened small jewels down her long hair, which had been gathered into a knot at the top of her head, but now, cascaded freely down her back.

"Zit Still!" A woman with a heavy Orlesian accent snapped at her as she applied charcoal under Mira's eyes, making them appear huge. "Zere, now you can move."

Mira bent down securing a holster to either thigh.

"Ugh…Must you insist on wearing dat!" the maid scoffed at her.

"Yes, I insist!" she hissed back at the woman.

"Now for the shoes..."

Mira wobbled as she tried to maintain her balance. She took one final look at herself in the mirror. Letting a tiny gasp escape her lips, she said, "I don't even look like me."

The woman stood at her side admiring her work. "Yes, this is a good thing."

She shot the woman a disapproving glance.

"You had better urry, the rest of your party have already arrived." She rushed Mira out of the room.

Mira hurried down the corridor, almost in a run. Cutting the corner to the Great Hall, her foot caught the carpet, and she toppled to the floor, cursing. Upon picking up her head, she heard a male voice.

"You see Alistair, women will be falling at your feet." The man chuckled. Alistair groaned.

Still lying on the ground, she thought to herself, "_oh, so graceful"._

Alistair gasped "...Mira?" He offered her a hand pulling her up and steadying her, starring at her as if she had just grown breasts and actually become a woman.

She lifted up her head. "Oh hi, Alistair" She brushed herself off, trying not to look disheveled. "They wouldn't let me wear my boots," she smiled awkwardly, still trying to shake the embarrassment.

"You look...You're..." he stammered while gaping at her.

The second voice chimed in, "I believe what my nephew is trying to say, is that you look beautiful." Bann Teagan, took her by the hand, and placed a light kiss upon it.

She blushed, "I feel like a Hurlock in heels." Brushing herself off, she managed to make the corners of her lips rise to form a curvaceous smile.

Bann Teagan laughed, "If all Hurlocks looked as marvelous as you do, my dear, we would invite a Blight more often." He offered her his arm, "Will you do me the honor?"

She accepted it gracefully. "Thank you, Teagan. You may have to hold me up, lest I am introduced as the Grey Warden, Mira," making a broad gesture with one arm, she continued, "while tumbling down the stairs."

They all chuckled. "That, I'd like to see," Alistair laughed through a kind smile.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Oh, very lady like," he retorted.

"This is where I take leave of you," Bann Teagan nodded to Alistair. As they parted ways, Teagan looked back at him. "Oh and, Alistair, try to relax a bit, will you?" he said, squeezing Mira's arm and winking at her. "We wouldn't want to you to be described as 'The King with a mighty stick up his arse." Mira covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

"Oh, very funny," Alistair grumbled as he disappeared down the corridor.

Bann Teagan and Mira continued toward the Great Hall, laughing and cajoling between one another.

Oghren stood in the room adjacent from the Great Hall. Constantly shifting around in his clothes, he could have sworn he was being attacked by some unknown rash demon.

"Name?" the guard inquired of him.

"Huh? Wha...Oh...Oghren," he replied, trying not to attack his own clothing.

"Just Oghren?" The guard gave him a questioning and impatient look.

"Yeah! Just Oghren," he snapped back. The guard turned to walk away, when he heard a chortling laugh. "Wait!" Oghren slurred, pointing at the guard, and he took a giant swig from his flask. "I changed my mind!"

Leliana and Zevran turned from their dance as the loud voice of the guard started his announcements again.

He cleared his throat. "Announcing Oghren..." He paused briefly rolling his eyes before continuing. "The Fancy," he said, sounding completely unamused.

Oghren descended the grand staircase with an overacted swish as he flailed his right arm wildly. He was a graceful sort of chaotic horror story, surprisingly talented while splashing little ale. As soon as he hit the main floor, his demeanor changed to that of his usual grumpy self. Leliana and Zevran turned their heads, hiding their laughter.

"Very nice to see you, Oghren, the Fancy," Leliana spurted, trying to subdue her laughter.

"Yeah I know, I'm pretty!" The dwarf primped himself, mockingly.

Their mutual amusement at each other was cut short by yet another announcement. The loud booming voice continued again. "Announcing Bann Teagan and the Grey Warden Mira."

All eyes were glued to them as they descended the stairs. She was radiant, a flowing violet top hung off her shoulders into long flowing sleeves, a darker violet corset pushed up her breasts and cinched her waist, just long enough to just cover her hips. Under that, layer upon layer of violet silk draped and floated as she glided down the stairs, occasionally separating to show the smallest glimpse of an ankle. Her hair cascaded down her back, tiny glittering gems, catching the light. Leliana watched her friend's face turn a bright shade of red. Mira caught her eye for a split second, before turning away.

Oghren, unfortunately too short to compete with a crowd, stood looking at the backside of a heavy set noble woman. This was not a bad thing, as he was amused at the sight. It was when his company stopped talking that he looked up to see Zevran and Leliana staring toward the entrance.

Zevran had a perplexed look on his face, something that resembled shock mixed with that of a child seeing magic for the first time. He had always thought of her as beautiful, even when she was covered in blood from battle. He simply had never seen her look so exquisite, and all he could think was, "_That iz my Warden...mine. I do not deserve her_."

"Shut your mouth, Zevran," Leliana, whispered to him, amused at the dumbfounded assassin.

Mira caught his eye and smiled as she came to the end of the grand staircase. Teagan glanced between them, turning to face her, and taking both her hands in his, said, "Would you honor me with the first dance?"

She smiled up at him. "Of course."

Leliana could sense just a hint of jealousy from Zevran as the music began again.

"Ahh heh heh, looks like she dumped ya fer Bann Teagan," Oghren jested.

Zevran glared at him, looking smug and wandering off. He came across a woman sitting alone in an alcove, almost as if she was hiding. A typical group of women stood nearby, gossiping amongst themselves, eying him flirtatiously as he came near. He approached them, surveying each one seductively as he passed. Turning to the woman sitting alone in the alcove he offered her a hand. The group of women scoffed and disbursed. "May I have this dance?" he asked her, chivalry abundant.

The woman glowed and turned away. Taking his hand she cautiously stood, the light of the room highlighting a wrinkled scar covering most of the left side of her face. She covered it quickly with one hand.

"Do not be shy my dear lady, most people do not see de beauty on the inside, as I do."

She smiled as he escorted her to the floor. She was awkward at best, but seemed grateful to be the one being watched instead of the one doing the watching. She never said a word to him as he whisked her around the floor. She smiled again, as the music ended.

"Dis is where I must bid you farewell." He placed a light kiss on her hand. Her grip tightened as he tried to pull it away. Forcing a smile, he removed her hand, making an excuse about too much ale.

Mira pulled back from Teagan, as the music ended. "I suppose you will be off to find your assassin then?" he sighed.

"I am afraid so," she replied politely.

"It has been a pleasure, truly. I must be off to coax our King into showing his face."

"Good Luck with that," she laughed.

"We may have to drag him out kicking and screaming," he groaned, half joking.

The corner of her mouth curved upward, intrigued by her own thoughts. "I'm sure Zevran might know of a few dozen poultices to calm him down," she said sarcastically.

Teagan raised an eyebrow. "Tell him I may have to take him up on that."

"Seriously?" she said, her expression turning to surprised amusement.

"Oh, not for Alistair, " he chuckled. "For me!" he grinned, looking behind him, as he walked off.

Mira threw her head back in a loud laugh, immediately covering her mouth as if no one should see her smile. Her eyes darted around the room searching for an all too familiar face and thought she saw him by the stairs, leaning on a pillar, but after a few people had passed, he was gone.

"_I hate it when he does that._" She thought to herself. Making her way to the side of the room, looking in all directions, she could find no sign of him. She was about to walk away, when an arm quickly wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. A familiar voice whispered in her ear. "Don't move..." As he spun her around, she stumbled. He caught her, bringing her back to eye level as he raised an eyebrow.

"Are dees new feet?" he said cocking his head to the side, smirking, still holding her up by the waist.

"Where have you been?" she asked, happy to see him.

"Why? Did you miss me?" He pulled her closer.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Mira grimaced stabilizing herself. "I need to hire you to assassinate the sadistic merchant who made these shoes."

"Ahhh hahaha, such torture," He ran a hand through her hair, pulling her face close to his. "I like it."

Goosebumps ran down her spine as he whispered in her ear. Leliana watched from afar as the two elves took to dancing. She could see the intense connection in their eyes, and she smiled.

Alistair apologized to Zevran as he cut in on the next dance. "This is torture," he groaned and closed his eyes. "And what's worse is they all keep staring..." They glanced around the room as they danced. Mira buried her head in his shoulder, hiding her laughter, as she noticed various sets of eyes staring daggers at her.

"See!" he said exasperated.

"And yet there so subtle about it," Mira added sarcastically.

Suddenly, the room exploded in a fury of activity as a woman screamed in horror. Impulse led Mira to throw back the side slits in her gown drawing the two daggers strapped to her legs. The crowd of guests staggered back in shock. Guards placed around the room stood ready, swords in hand. Zevran stood against a far wall, weapons drawn. A woman tumbled over the minstrels grabbing her head, hair falling out in clumps as she manically grabbed it with her fists, trying absently to somehow reattach it. She cried even louder as she noticed all eyes upon her, and she paused for a second before running from the room. The minstrels regained their instruments and their composure as if nothing had happened, resuming to play. The crowd murmured for a moment, before resuming their activities. Zevran watched from across the room, grinning luridly as she sheathed her weapons, inadvertently drawing attention to her long slender legs.

Alistair looked away."So, do you always come to a party armed?" he asked still glancing around the room, avoiding her eyes.

"Well, yes," she said bluntly, looking at him for a moment and smirking. "So I can assume that wasn't a dagger in _your_ pocket?" She smoothed out the folds in her gown, looking up at him, eyebrows raised.

He turned bright red staggering backward, wide eyed. "What? I... no! No...you're joking right? Please tell me you're joking," he stammered.

She looked at him playfully, "Too bad, you'll never know."

"I …um...I should, um...go...over there...now!" He turned to speed away, as Zevran appeared behind him.

"I hate to interrupt but may I?"

Alistair fell back against Mira's chest, startled by his sudden appearance, "Makers breath, Zevran! Are you trying to kill me... again. You could give a man a heart attack!"

Zevran leaned back his head in a hearty laugh. "Long story _dare_, but yes I have, perhaps you would like to hear how..."

Alistair had promptly walked away, secretly appreciating him for his timing at showing up.

"Or maybe some other time, yes?" Zevran trailed off. "Shall we?" He turned back towards Mira.

"We shall," she returned.

"I take it, our King, has some issues regarding his courtship?"

She laughed, "You could say that."

"It is much like a whorehouse, is it not?" he said, observing the crowd.

She tilted her head back in an abrupt laugh. "These whores have only one customer they wish to be bought by."

He chuckled, "Exactly. They fall all over themselves, flaunting whatever they see fit, just to receive the prize."

She turned her head scanning the room, only to find what she was looking for. A smattering of women, most accompanied by an older woman, presumably their mothers standing in a mock queue, all fussing about, fidgeting and smoothing themselves as if they were on fire constantly and needed to brush it away. Alistair was doing his very best to remain as poised as humanly possible.

"Andraste's ass, that's funny. Do you think they'll be offended if I tell them Alistair has a thing for women who do animal impressions?"

He buried his head in her shoulder as he laughed, trying to hide it.

"And what are you two up to?" Leliana appeared next to them, amused at their antics.

Controlling their laughter, the pair enlightened her on their conversation. Leliana raised a hand to her mouth hiding her mischievous grin. "Nooo...I dare you!" she whispered leaning in to them.

Oghren staggered up to them. "You three look like trouble ..." he stated and let out a loud belch.

"Watch this Oghren," Leliana giggled turning him towards Mira.

Mira circled around the makeshift queue, gliding towards a heavy set woman who was doting upon her daughter.

"Oh my, I just love your dress, that color is amazing on you," Mira said in an overly enthusiastic tone.

The glowering heavyset older woman answered before her daughter could reply. "Yes, it is isn't it?" Her eyes scanned Mira from head to toe. "It is a measure _above_ the rest." Daggers flashed through the woman's eyes. "And who might you be?" she said in a dry tone, still staring down at her.

"Oh, how rude of me, my Lady." Mira forced a smile and a small bow. "I am Mira, of the Grey Wardens."

The woman's demeanor immediately softened into an icky, overly sweet suck up. She elbowed her vacuous daughter. "Do be polite, Dear! You're being complimented by The Hero of Ferelden!"

Mira wanted to be sick; she forced a smile as the women introduced themselves.

"I am Lady Trapmuth, and this is my daughter, Francis."

"A pleasure." Mira curtsied.

"So I hear you traveled extensively with our new king?" Lady Trapmuth prodded.

"Indeed I have," she smiled gracefully.

"He is quite the catch, isn't he?" Francis chimed in, looking for a hint that there might have been something between the two.

Mira looked at her blankly, and then turned to look at Alistair. "I suppose you may be right..." She put on her dumbest, most innocent face. "I just don't look at _human_ men that way."

A wash of relief came over both their faces. "Of Course you don't my dear. How silly of me," Lady Trapmuth continued in a condescending tone.

Mira gritted her teeth. "I do know some things about him that might be of interest." Mira gestured Francis to lean in closer.

"Oh? Do tell…" Francis looked like the cat who caught the canary.

"I overheard him once," Mira whispered.

"Yes?" Francis' eyes grew large with anticipation.

"He told a beautiful woman from Orlais that animal noises...excite him." Mira nodded at her looking very serious.

Francis looked shocked and puzzled. "Really?"

Mira continued to keep a straight face, nodding.

"What happened to this woman?" Francis faked a look of concern.

Mira was not expecting her to ask, her mind raced, before she lowered her eyes to the ground. "It was tragic," she said mimicking a look of sorrow. "She was ...eaten."

"Eaten?" Francis' eyes widened.

"Yes." Mira shook her head, a baneful expression on her face.

Francis put a hand to her mouth as she gasped. "By darkspawn?"

"No..." Mira tried to make her tone as mournful as possible. "By a circus bear." Mira looked at her for a moment, wondering when Francis was going to call her bluff. She would be waiting for a long time.

"Oh!" Francis exclaimed, "It makes so much sense now." She gazed sorrowfully at Alistair,

"It does?" Mira tried to hide the look of shocked perplexity on her face.

Francis looked down at Mira, as if to pat her on the head.  
_  
"I swear if this woman pats me on the head, I'm going to break off her hand",_ Mira thought through gritted teeth_, _continuing to force a smile.

_"_Of course...The animal noises, remind him of a lost love..." She sighed putting a hand to her heart. "A love he can find again." Francis looked smitten.

Mira really wanted to vomit. She didn't think she could take it much longer and made a polite, yet hasty exit.

Alistair stared at his shoes, a lot. The whole courting facade was a farce.

"Well at least make it _look _like your trying," his very blunt uncle, Arl Eamon, had put it to him.

"What you're saying is..." Alistair put on a mock puppet show with his hands. The left hand spoke with a dry low voice. "Allllllistar," his hand mocked, "eventually, you must find yourself a wiiiife." Switching hands, he spoke in his own tone. "Oh, reeeeealy? Actually after the options presented to me this evening, I would rather just head to the deep roads now, if you don't mind."

Arl Eamon chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "I said _look_ like you're interested, and stop running to Mira every time."

"Oh, you noticed that did you?" he muttered trying his best to shake it off and look innocent.

Arl Eamon looked at him seriously. "It doesn't look good for you Alistair, if the King spends too much time dancing with..." he trailed off.

"Dancing with what, Eamon?" Alistair lowered his eyes and clenched his jaw. "An elf?" His face wore a look suggesting that Eamon choose his words very carefully.

Eamon sighed. "Unfortunately, bearing the title of Hero of Ferelden, does not change the fact that, yes, she is Elven." He looked truly remorseful for stating the facts. "All I ask is that you simply dance with a few more of them, before the night wears thin."

Alistair poked his head through the tapestry hanging in the doorway, and shuddered. "Oh good." He grumbled massaging the bridge of his nose, frustrated at his situation. "They make Anora look like a fuzzy warm kitten, in comparison."

Eamon gave him a hearty chuckle. "I don't have to dance with the one who has an affinity for hair loss, do I? Alistair ran his hand nervously through his own hair.

Eamon laughed, reassuringly patting him on the back. "No, both families have been escorted off the premises." He reassured, guiding him to the queue of eager women.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair replied.

A weary guard entered the room, interrupting Eamon's coaxing. "Ser...Announcing…"

"Again? Isn't it a bit late?"Alistair groaned

"They have traveled from Minrathous, Sire," The Guard bowed and backed from the room.

"Well now, let's not keep them waiting," Eamon said as he ushered Alistair from the room.

"Announcing the Lady and Lord , Iona, and Fent Thalsian," the guard boomed over the crowd.

Descending the grand staircase was an elaborately decorated heavyset woman, carrying with such a posture that she led with her chest. A man of equal stature gracefully led her down the stairs, demanding an attention, all his own. They were not a particularly attractive couple, eclectic at best. She wore a tight deep green, ankle length dress, trimmed in gold. Bracelets and rings encrusted with every kind of precious stone dripping off her fingers. Aside from her lavish attire, she was an older woman, quite beautiful at one time left to the fate of age's enviable cruelty. The tall man escorting her was not as elaborately dressed, nor was he adorned as such. Handsome, age had treated him kindly. He was a skinny man with long black hair brushing against the sharp angle of his jaw. They were polar opposites of one another. The couple finished their grand entrance, disappearing into the crowd.

Zevran pressed his hip into hers, turning her with the music, laughing and eying her seductively. "Did you see de look on that woman's face" He was amused, regaling the recent success at sabotage between two women.

"I never thought you looked at a face, Zev?" Mira teased.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said dramatically staring from her breasts to her eyes and back again.

"You are a very silly man," she said through a winsome smile.

"I do my best." He dipped her back, holding her at the waist, his right knee supporting her as she rolled her torso arching backward, and catching her head as she lifted upward, snapping her face close to his.

"Mmmm," he growled through his lips, running his hand up her torso and sliding his hand into hers.

The stares they were receiving were varied for the most part and they ignored the disapproving scoffs and snorts from noble women staring at them from down the tips of their noses.

"It's against the Maker, dancing like that!" One woman gossiped to another, standing in their haughty little circles.

Zevran dipped her again, bending at the waist, leaning his torso over hers and running a finger over her lips and down her neck, before guiding her upright.

An older man and woman stood near them, pausing for a moment, before the woman smacked her husband in the chest, causing him to let out a stifled cough.

"Why don't you ever dance like that with me?" She was half smiling.

"Because, my dear," the older gentleman grinned at his wife, "a move like that would surly result in injury, rather than grace."

Zevran threw his head back in a laugh as the couple smiled and nodded appreciatively.

"It's good to see such unabashed youth and passion, amidst all this fabricated pomp." The older man leaned over commenting to the two elves. Mira smiled at them and stopped dancing to exchange pleasantries.

"I am Lord Fent," he began with a wave of his hand, "and this is Lady Iona."

Zevran took her by the hand, placing a light kiss upon it. "Charmed." Iona smiled coyly. "I am Zevran." Mira always loved the way his own name rolled off his tongue. Fent took her by the hand, as Zevran continued. "And this is my lovely Grey Warden, Mira."

Iona's eyes lit up, "The Grey Warden? The Hero of Ferelden?" she asked with intrigue.

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Mira replied "One and the same," allowing a sigh to escape her lips. "Although between you and me, I'd prefer to drop that last part. It makes me feel like I'm on display in my small clothes."

The couple let out a genuine laugh. Mira was surprised at how relaxed she felt around them. It was as if they had known each other for years. The music began again.

"May I have this dance?" Fent bowed politely to Zevran, as he took Mira by the hand.

Zevran smiled returning the bow, "Of course." He turned to Iona, "May I?"

Iona grinned, "Perhaps you can teach me some of those dance moves." Zevran chuckled, amused by her flirtations.

Iona was about a head taller than he was; they looked like quite the odd couple. None of this bothered Zevran in the least as he glided her effortlessly across the floor.

They overheard a frail looking woman remark to her dry faced husband, "Ugh...They are dancing with elves now." A sneer crossed her pointy face.

Zevran lowered his brow, exchanging a look with his dance partner. Almost throwing him off step, Iona spun her right heel around, crashing it down upon the unsuspecting woman's foot.

She howled in pain, hopping and leaning on her ridged husband. "YOU clumsy...!"

Iona cut her off, laughing, "Oh my, do pardon me!" she said flitting her hand at the woman.

Zevran spun her back the other way, and they exchanged a nod.

"I prefer to hit rude noble women where it counts." An evil smirk spread across her face.

Zevran raised an eye. "Oh?"

"Yes, in their shoes," she grinned triumphantly

"Ahh,haha, I like your style, my dear," he approved, smiling wickedly.

Mira was about three inches shorter then Zevran, who, was at most, a foot shorter then Fent, which made for an awkward dancing partner. Mira noted this and chose to make light of the situation.

"I feel like a child." She looked up at him smiling.

Fent looked down at her and chuckled. "You could stand on my feet if you'd like."

She laughed at his teasing, and took his hand. He was a rather ridged dancer, compared to the fluid motions of Zevran. Fent had an odd smell about him, smoky, with an undertone of almond that seemed to intensify as dance progressed. He took Mira by both hands as the music ended, pulling her right hand close to his mouth lingering a kiss upon it.

"Oh, dear." He gently pushed her hand back looking down on it with concern, a trickle of blood running down the length of her wrist. "It seems my signet ring as nicked you, my dear," he said apologetically while staring at the blood covering his hand.

"Oh? I didn't even notice," she said, an embarrassed look on her face. She closed her hand over her fingers, attempting to stop the flow. "Please, excuse me while I clean this up." She bowed and hurried from the room.

Fent returned to his wife and Zevran. "It seems as if my dancing abilities have not improved," he said placing a hand on both their shoulders.

"What have you done now, dear husband?" Iona rolled her eyes at him.

"It seems my old heirloom has struck again." He glanced down at the blood-covered ring on his hand.

Zevran took a step back, folding his arms, deciding if he should kill the man or not.

"Oh Fent, again?" She jabbed him in the ribs, "I told you not to wear that thing!"

Fent turned to Zevran, "I do apologize. It was merely an accident. The Warden Mira should be returning shortly."

Zevran nodded at him, expressing no emotion on his face. "Did you see which way she went? I would like to check on her myself."

Fent gracefully pointed him in the wrong direction. He took Iona by the hands as she slipped the ring off his finger, dropping it into a small leather satchel.

"Nice work, my love." She placed a kiss on his cheek as he smiled.

Mira made her way down the hall to a small washroom. As she cleaned up the line of dried blood running down the length of her forearm, she began to feel dizzy, almost faint.

Taking a deep breath, she thought to herself, "_No more wine for me"_ and splashed some cool water on her face before returning to the Great Hall.

Alistair, after excusing himself from what seemed like the tenth dance in a row, tried to make a stealthy escape into the hall. Hopelessly surrounded by the clanging of guards made it impossible for him not to be noticed.

"Do you mind?" His voice sounded louder then he meant it.

"Apologies Sire, It is our duty as-"

Alistair cut the man off, "I know, I know...how can I forget," he groaned. "Look, if I can survive an archdemon, I'm fairly sure I can live through a trip to the loo." His voice had a tone of irritation. "Look, just a little space would be nice," he sighed.

The guard nodded and they filed into place along the wall. Exhaling he turned to enter the washroom when the door opened, almost colliding with his face. The guards drew their swords as Mira stumbled out of the room.

"Stand Down!" Alistair yelled.

Mira threw up her hands in shock.

"Suddenly it's become dangerous to exit the privy around me," he said, placing a hand over his face.

She smiled at him warily, her face looking pale. Her head was foggy and the room began to spin.

He looked at her with concern. "Are you alright?"

She forced a smile. "I'm fine..." He held her by the elbow as she swayed slowly. "Probably...just too much...w-" Mira's eyes rolled up as the room took one final spin. He pulled her forward as she collapsed, catching her shoulders with one arm and picking her up. Her head flopped backwards for a moment before she opened her eyes. She lifted her head trying to focus on him.

"Let's have some fresh air," he said as he looked down examining her ashen face, carrying her to a nearby private balcony. He shot the guards a look of warning that told them to wait inside. Music from the ongoing gala carried through the cool night air. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat up.

"Are you alright?" He gazed into her bright green eyes.

"I'm fine," she replied trying to reassure him.

He slowly lowered her to the ground, keeping his hands tenderly on her shoulders. "What is that smell?" he asked. "It's like burning and almonds."

"Oh, that." She absently grabbed her hair sniffing at it. "I danced with a man who had some bizarre cologne. A bit much isn't it?" She managed a quirky smile.

He watched her for what seemed like a lifetime as the moonlight highlighted her smooth features, illuminating her red stained lips. He fought to suppress a lingering thought. Soon, for the first time in over a year, they would part ways. Nothing would ever be the same again, and a pang of sadness washed over him. A long strand of hair floated across her face in the breeze. He marveled at how radiant she looked and couldn't stop pondering what had gone wrong between them. Then he remembered.

"_Right, it was because I am an ass. Maker! I am a stupid, stupid man. I elected to support politics and racism, rather than stand for what I believed in. All in the name of revenge. I am a stupid, stupid, stubborn man!_"

She must have noticed the woebegone expression on his face as she was looking at him with increased concern in her eyes. "What is it, Alistair?"

Pulling himself together, he said the only thing he could muster. "I...I'm going to miss you," he whispered looking down at her.

She felt a heaviness in her eyes as she stared up at him, suddenly realizing that an end was close at hand. Sadness formed as a lump in the back of her throat, as he pulled her into a tight hug.

"I'm going to miss you, too," she whispered against his chest.

He brushed the hair out of her face and lifted up her chin, cupping her cheek. She didn't move, just stared into his hazel eyes. Before either one of them could take another breath his lips were pressed against hers. Warm and willing she parted her lips gently probing his mouth with her tongue for entry. A hunger swept over him as he lifted her up, sitting her on the ledge of the balcony. He groaned, kissing her harder, as her legs wrapped tightly around him. Remembering the few nights they had spent together at camp before he made that one huge stupid mistake. He deftly pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her breasts. The cold air nipping at her skin as his mouth found its way to her exposed nipples. She leaned back, running her hands through his hair. Moaning softly, she suckled on his ear, and tingle ran down his spine. He dropped his hands to the sides of her skirt, pushing it up, allowing her to feel his eagerness pressing against her warmth. A groan vibrated from his throat as she rhythmically rolled her hips grinding against him. Her hands slid down his back searching for his pants, releasing and caressing his length. He groaned as a primal instinct took over him. Wanting to devour her, he grabbed her by the hips and picked her up. Mira's eyes shot open in surprise as pain and heat surged through her.

"Alistair?" she gasped. "We can't..." Her eyes closed in pleasure as he pulled back and pushed in further. "Alistair, you're hurting me," she winced

He looked up at her clenching his jaw, growling, pressing his thumb against her teeth. The smell of smoke and almonds seemed to loom around them. She cried out as he thrust his full length inside her. The pain turned to pleasure as he held her hips in place, nibbling her neck at the sensitive spot behind her ear. He groaned her name as he felt her muscles grab and twitch around him. She abandoned herself to pleasure, leaning her torso back allowing him deeper access. She ran her tongue down his neck as he continued to thrust into her.

"Harder..." she moaned against his ear. He obliged not able to control himself any longer. He cried out into her hair as his movements came to slow deliberate thrusts, emptying himself inside her as she moaned. "Maker, Zev...I love you."

He didn't hear her, at least it didn't register in his mind as he set her stared briefly at one another before kissing again, lowering her to the ground. Everything faded to blackness.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch4.

**About Last Night?**

Sometime later Alistair awoke to one of his guards kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulder."Huh...Wha?" He slowly came to. Trying to pull himself up, he noticed a weight pressed against his chest. "Mira?" he whispered, lifting up her head. She roused, groaning unhappily. "Mira, wake up," he said a bit louder.

Her eyes began to focus, her head clearing up much faster, and then her eyes widened. "Alistair!" She quickly sat up, relieved as she found herself fully dressed, disheveled but clothed none the less. The guard looked between the two, a half cocked smile barely crossing his lips as he helped them to their feet. Mira and Alistair exchanged a bewildered look.

The guard cleared his throat. "Arl Eamon has been searching for you, your Majesty."

"Oh, Maker," Alistair groaned, dreading his impending conversation. "He didn't? You didn't!" he fumbled trying to find the right words.

"No, Sire. I told him you were," the guard cleared his throat and continued," attending to a sick friend."

Relief washed over Alistair's face, as he exhaled slowly, placing a hand on the guards shoulder. "Thank you, my good man."

"Yes, thank you," Mira added breathlessly.

The guard gave her a dry look, before turning back to Alistair. "That was two hours ago, Sire."

"Makers breath! He must be having kittens at this point!" he exclaimed.

"Might I be so bold as to suggest you enter separately?" the guard added, looking at Mira as he stated the last word. Alistair turned to her, with a look of anxious concern.

"Go," she said.

"Yes..right..umm...We'll talk later," he said and swiftly entered the hallway.

Mira crept back into the hall and made her way towards her room. A mere semblance of voices were still heard echoing through the halls. The music had slowed to a tranquil pace as the guests retired for the evening. She slipped quietly into her room.

"Have fun dis evening?" The highlighted silhouette of Zevran stood leaning against the window.

She took a deep breath, as he crossed the room towards her. "Mona said she had found you quite inebriated in the larder," he chuckled. "Snoring in a pile of bread. I am sorry I missed dat."

Mira was stunned, "_Does word really travel THAT fast in this castle?" _She thought before answering. "I wasn't..." She abruptly changed her train of thought. "Wait! I don't snore!" she said, abruptly crossing her arms in a huff.

She awoke the following morning to someone knocking on the door. Still half asleep she rolled out of bed and slipped into a robe. The guard on the other side informed her that her presence was requested for an impromptu meeting with the King. A feeling of dread clawed it's way through her stomach.

"What is this about?" she asked, slightly perturbed. The guard was unfamiliar to her, that is to say he wasn't on duty during last night's incident.

"Warden business was all I was told, Commander."

"Tell him I'll be along shortly," she replied firmly and shut the door.

Alistair sat in a large chair, nervously tapping his fingers on his desk. Images from last night's events flashed through his mind. It seemed like a dream; maybe it was. Such dreams were uncommon between the nightmares, but welcome when they occurred.

"Enter!" he said loudly to the knock on the door.

Mira stood in the doorway, shadowed between two guards and looking unamused. Dark circles hung under her dreary eyes and she had no strength to properly give the guards a piece of her mind. Luckily Alistair did so for her.

"You can wait outside," he stated curtly.

As soon as the door shut behind her, she slunk herself into a chair opposite his desk, a look of abashment on her face. He swallowed hard, struggling trying to find the right words.

"I will be leaving tomorrow," she stated rather brusquely.

His heart felt as if it had just plummeted into the depths of his stomach; he was utterly crestfallen. Mira looked directly at him, almost through him. Composing himself he grunted and cleared his throat.

"To the Tower?" was all he could muster; no clear thought would form in his head.

Neither one of them wanted to speak of the events from the prior evening, but they both knew something needed to be said. Mira sank deeper into her chair trying to hide from the foggy memories she still hadn't sorted through. "I made a horrible mistake..." she muttered.

Taken aback, his ears turned a shade of red. "Well, I wouldn't say horrible." He tried his best to look cocky. "Unexpected, maybe impulsive, but not horrible," he smirked at her.

Mira groaned laying her face in her hands. "Maker's ass, I shagged the King!"

His eyes took on a look of dejection, as he gathered himself. "I...it's not as if it hadn't happened before." He let out a deep breath."I don't know what came over me. I..."

Mira refused to look at him, finding it easy. "That's the thing of it, " she quickly looked up at him. "What we _had…_that was along time ago. It was a fling, it wasn't real."

There was that dagger in his stomach again, just twisting away. He shot her a contended look. "It was real for me," he said tensing his face into a pout.

"Well, it was real for me too, until you decided to turn into a bigot." She immediately regretted what she had said, and apologized. "I'm sorry I didn't mean that."

His face fell in shame and hurt. "Yes, you did," he sighed, "and you're right. I was a coward and a stupid, stupid man."

She buried her head in her hands, holding back a burning behind her eyes. "I got over that a long time ago." She looked at him again with a sorrowful expression. "I moved on. I'm happy now."

A sudden pang of jealousy rang through him that he quickly covered with a sarcastic overtone. "So I see, or hear...mostly." He straightened himself up, trying his best to look comfortable. "Are you going to tell him?"

"NO!" She stated rather harshly, before correcting herself. "Not yet anyway," she added quietly. "Funny thing is," she said suddenly remembering what Zevran had told her, "when I got back to the room, Zevran was waiting for me."

Alistair's eyes widened in anticipation.

"He said that Mona had found me passed out in the larder, snoring on a pile of bread," ahe finished, looking perplexed.

He contemplated for a moment. "Odd, she bumped into me right as I came in." He furrowed his brow in thought as he continued. "She didn't say anything, just smiled." It suddenly occurred to him that his guard might not have been the only one to witness their indiscretion. He lowered his head into his hands, groaning. "I can't decide if I should thank her, or fire her."

"If you do decide to fire her, please do so after I leave," Mira suggested wearily.

Alistair changed the subject. "Speaking of which, I believe we have agreed to keep this library business to ourselves. In my request, I stated that the investigation be handled discreetly." He handed her the sealed parchment.

"Does Arl Eamon know?" she asked plainly.

Alistair lowered his eyes, "Not yet, and I don't want to worry him. You know how he feels about mages." He produced a sly smirk. "He still goes pale at the mere mention of the word mage. I think telling him we stumbled across a hidden mage laboratory might just send him right back into a coma."

Mira chuckled at the thought of the Arl fainting with such ease. At that, Alistair stood from the table and walked over to Mira, pulling her into a hug. "I really am going to miss you." He held her head to his chest.

"It's for the best," she said, looking up at him.

"I'll have the cooks prepare a private feast for the five of us tonight. I'll tell them you will be leaving with Zevran on Warden business."

She smiled at him with a sadness in her eyes. Her feelings toward him may have changed, but she would still miss him greatly.

Mira found Zevran sometime later on the training grounds, mercilessly tormenting a young guard. It was obvious by his clumsy maneuvering that the man had never laid a foot in the field. He charged at Zevran, who effortlessly dodged his attack, twisting around behind him only to knock him on his face. The crowd of guards watching the scene laughed uproariously and jeered their fallen comrade. Mira stood back from the sidelines, smiling at the pleasure he was taking in humiliating the poor man. He looked up from his conquest to see her leaning against a post. He helped him to his feet and sauntered over to greet her.

"Meeting was a success, yes?" He traced a finger down her cheek and she took hold of his hand.

"It was fine. We're leaving in the morning, to head to the Circle Tower," she said blandly.

"Yet you seem so unenthusiastic about it, my dear."He frowned and looked at her inquisitively. "Perhaps a massage is in order," he said placing a finger on her chin and lifting her face.

She smiled at him. "Tempting, but no." She licked her lips enticing him further. "Later, definitely," she finished as she turned to walk away.

"Si amore, I will hold you to dat," he growled playfully.

Zevran was making his way back to his room, when a voice called out form behind him. "Zevran, might I have a word." He turned to find Fent standing outside a guest room door.

Curious he approached the man. "At your service."

Fent cleared his throat before he began. "It has come to my attention that you and your Warden will be traveling tomorrow." Zevran raised an eyebrow. "The Lady Iona and I shall be departing as well, and perhaps you would care to join us as far as your road may lead. We have a caravan and like to travel in style, plenty of food and wine to go around. That is if you are of a mind."

Zevran grinned appreciatively, considering the offer. "I shall discuss it with Mira and send you a missive. For now I believe there iz a beautiful woman waiting in my room that I must attend to."

Fent chuckled as he watched Zevran continue swiftly down the hall. "I shall look forward to it," he called out after him before returning to his own room.

Zevran arrived to find Mira curled up, asleep on the bed. He bent down over her and whispered softly in her ear. "Amore…" She didn't respond. Sitting on the bed, he ran the back of his hand gently down her face. "Mir?" he said a bit louder, relieved as she murmured in her sleep. "Wake up, amore."

She stirred and rolled over, slowly opening her eyes, she smiled at him warmly. "Mmm, Zev, I must have fallen asleep."

He noticed a cold sweat as he stroked her face before leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. "You are feeling well, yes?" he said concerned as he felt her cold clammy cheek.

Mira turned her body to face him. "Mmmm," she nodded. "Just a bit sleepy is all."

He retracted his hand. "Good," he said, slightly more energetic. "I was propositioned in de hallway," he continued, baiting her for a response.

She raised an eyebrow as her lips pursed into a sideways smirk. "Again?" Rolling over to lean on her elbows, she exhaled dramatically. "Which is it this time, murder or seduction?" With the last word she rested her head on his thigh. "Or both?" she asked looking up at him.

Aroused by the provocative position of her head, he forced himself to continue. "Not dis time, no. Interesting enough, de Lord and Lady Thalsian requested our company while traveling. They boast of ample food and wine, both of which we enjoy, yes?"

Mira pondered the idea for a moment. "Sounds good to me." She rolled onto her back, leaning her head backwards across his thigh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch 5 **

**The Dinner**

Alistair stood proudly as the five remaining friends entered the dining room. The long dining table was overflowing with every type of food imaginable. An entire barrel of ale had been wheeled in, tapped, and set up next to countless bottles of wine.

After devouring an entire roast boar, and many, many, bottles of wine, the group had comfortably fallen back into their usual banter. Embarrassing Alistair had become quite mundane, so the group had turned upon Zevran.

Leliana sat across from him moving her hands in a whimsical fashion. "Why must you continue to speak of my bosom?" Leliana did her best impression of Wynne as they laughed at his expense. None of it seemed to faze him as he grinned and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, for her age, she did have a remarkable set of..." Zevran had both of his hands cupped above his chest, in a bouncing gesture.

"Whoa...Whoa! There now, Swishy!" Oghren exclaimed, pointing at him. "Let's NOT go there!"

There was a loud groan from the end of the table as Alistair put a hand over his eyes seeming to try to shake off some embarrassing memory.

"What is it Alistair?" Mira said as she choked back laughter.

He moved aside two fingers to look at her. "Speaking of bosoms," he muttered, just loud enough.

They all snickered at his use of the word. "The Ball...," he groaned louder. Mira's eyes shot wide open. Paralyzed in fear of what was to come out of his mouth, she dropped her glass. He noticed her cheeks becoming flushed as she stared at him, mouth agape. "All The women I had to dance with," Alistair spoke quickly.

Zevran caught her chalice before a single drop of wine was spilled, grinning at her as he handed it back. She exhaled sharply followed by a nervous chuckle. Alistair continued, "...and talk to," he let out a deep guttural groan, "and _listen_ to!" he said putting an emphasis on listen as he remembered the turmoil of having to remain composed while listening to them babble on and on about themselves.

The group laughed again before Mira spoke up. "So I hear," she giggled.

* * *

Alistair laid his head down. "Oh, it was horrid," he said clenching a fist, lightly pounding it on the table.

* * *

He focused his eyes on his friends as if he were telling a ghost story by the fire at camp. "They got weirder ...each one would make a strange noise," he said leaning over the table as if he was divulging a deep secret. "I didn't think it strange at first, as one woman insisted on growling in my ear as we danced. And what's worse…" He lifted up his head, becoming serious for a moment. "…as the night went on..."

* * *

* * *

The entire table sat still, leaning over in their chairs, never moving a muscle. They focused on his every word, and he continued. "After that, another woman made a barking noise in the middle of Guillaume de Machaut!" He looked exasperated. "Can you imagine?" All five of them paused, trying to stifle the inside joke. It was too much, as the group burst into uproarious laughter. Alistair looked angry, a scowl twisted up his face. "I'm serious!" he pouted loudly. "I had had enough when the daughter of Arl Martense made a piggy noise in my ear." Their stomachs hurt from the outward convulsions of laughter. Alistair wasn't laughing; instead, he was staring at them, sitting back in his chair with folded arms.

* * *

* * *

They tried their best to contain themselves. Not able to look at one another, they all pointed at Mira simultaneously.

* * *

* * *

She formed a childish grin, turning a new brighter shade of red. "Okay, okay, it was me." She pounded a fist on the table trying to suppress her own laughter. Gathering herself, she choked out a few words. "I couldn't help it," she said still laughing. "I'm so sorry," she continued to laugh, "I ...couldn't help myself," she said coughing as she finally finished her sentence. "It was too easy!"

* * *

* * *

"What!" Alistair demanded.

* * *

* * *

She was in tears, laughing so hard her sides hurt. None of them could look at each other. Mira cleared her throat. "I might have given a few noble women some disinformation." She suppressed a snicker, feeling a pang of guilt.

* * *

* * *

He glowered at her, squinting as he took a pull from his chalice of wine. "What kind or disinformation?" His voice was low and ominous

* * *

* * *

Mira glanced at the floor to avoid his stare. "I might have led them to believe," she said tracing an invisible pattern on the table nervously, "that you are excited by animal noises," she murmured.

* * *

* * *

"I'm sorry, what!" His voice cracked and his eyes widened into large circles as he sat forward in his chair.

* * *

* * *

"It's not as if I didn't have help," she stammered glancing at her comrades, who at this time had burst out into uncontrollable convulsions of laughter.

* * *

* * *

"I hate you all!" Alistair yelled, collapsing back into his seat. Unable to hold back his own laughter, he couldn't help but smile before finally letting loose, laughing harder than he had in a longtime.

* * *

* * *

"Thank the Maker!" he exhaled as his breathing returned to normal. "I really thought I had gone mad."

* * *

* * *

The night began to wear thin as the five of them talked of the past. Oghren planned to leave shortly after Zevran and Mira. He would head off in search of Felsi. He had received word that she and her mother were going to seek refuge from the blight in Orzammar. Secretly he was praying to the stone that she had survived. Outwardly, he made an excuse about unsettled business.

* * *

* * *

Leliana had chosen to remain at the palace. She still had not recovered the missing census. Zevran had left her with the finished copy of their recent demographics. Instinct told them that something was amiss between the scattered bits of information the group could surmise.

* * *

* * *

Many hours later, Oghren lay underneath barrel of ale, yelling at it for quitting. The group stood over him watching him drool and mutter. They parted ways for the evening in an unspoken conversation.

* * *

* * *

* * *

A/N - Guillaume de Machaut (c. 1300 – April 1377) was a Medieval French poet and composer.

Martense was taken from H.P Lovecraft's The Lurking Fear. I had to throw some homage to him in here. Thanks again to ZevGirl for all her help.


	6. Chapter 6

ch. 6

**Don't Take Candy from Nobles**

The sky was dark when they awoke the next morning. Thunder rumbled softly as thick rolling black clouds loomed in the distance. A heavy dampness hung in the air. Zevran sat admiring the curvature of Mira's body as the sheets clung to her. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. Leaning over, he traced the back of his hand along Mira's face. She stirred and opened her eyes, smiling up at him.

"Ready to travel, my dear Warden?" He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Mmm," she groaned, sitting up slowly, as a crash of thunder shook the palace walls.

"And such accommodating weather, too," she rolled her eyes, now thankful for the offer from Lord Fent and Lady Iona.

Zevran summoned a servant to ready their mounts with the satchels they had prepared the night before. Mira took one last long look at the room she and Zevran had called home for the past few months. An ache she tried to deny crept through her body. The knot in her stomach told her she would miss everything they had gone through albeit horrendous at times. She had grown accustom to the sense of family she gained traveling with her mismatched allies. Now it was time to part ways, and this left her at a loss. She wondered if they would ever see their companions again, and knew nothing would ever be the same. With one last long deep breath, she closed the door.

They walked the halls as the soldiers bid them farewell, each crossing their arms and bowing as they offered their gratitude. The hallways in the palace itself seemed empty and lonely; perhaps it was the frivolity of the past week's events that made it so. On the other hand, perhaps it was foresight into an uncertain future that triggered a primal fear. Then there was Alistair. Their love may have changed but the deep bond they shared had never wavered. Alistair hugged her so tightly she couldn't breathe before giving her a leg up.

The Lord and Lady Thalsian had readied their caravans. A large wagon elaborately carved and painted, sat ahead of a smaller less intricate one. Atop each sat a ridged driver, dressed in dark armor and a plain helmet. The long arm of Fent reached out the side window gesturing the command to proceed. With a look between them, the two elves bucked their horses and rode off, ahead of the Lady and Lord.

Zevran watched how smooth Mira was in the saddle, gracefully moving with the gate of her mare as she galloped ahead of him, her long black hair whipping behind her like the shadow of a flame. She was marvelous indeed, and it took quite a bit of self-control for him not to tackle her off her mount and take her right there in the brush. The pair slowed for a bit to catch their breath. Trotting alongside each other, he couldn't help but stare at her with a wide eyed, childlike grin.

"What?" she said as she noticed him.

His grin turned to a sly smirk, "Lucky your mount iz not a stallion," he looked her over from top to bottom, lowering his voice seductively, before continuing, "the way you ride her."

She chuckled, righting herself in the saddle. "Are you jealous? Perhaps later I can strap a saddle to you instead."

He smiled again, "Mmmm," he purred thoughtfully, amused by the idea." Not exactly what I had in mind."

Mira laughed and took off in a canter ahead of him as he shouted, "I am willing to try anything once!" and took off after her again.

Zevran caught up with her a moment later, to find her at a stand. She turned around as he approached, and put a finger to her lips as to shush him. He readily complied, cautiously listening to his surroundings. A scream echoed through the forest walls. With a quick glance the pair quickly dismounted, and headed towards the source of the skirmish.

A group of five bandits had a young woman surrounded. She was doing a fine job defending herself, with what little weapons she had. It was only when she was caught off guard by the rapid approach of Zevran and Mira that she slipped up. A large brutish man sliced into her right thigh, pushing her backwards. Zevran caught her as Mira started work on the Bandits. The young woman in Zevran's arms gasped and batted her bright blue eyes at him before smiling. He nodded at her, taking note of the lovely girl, before dropping her and dodging a swing from the large bandit. She landed on her rump with loud thud. No one saw her smirk as she slid away rubbing her sore end.

Zevran swiftly slit the man's throat before turning just in time to see Mira take a blow from a stocky bearded man. The man sliced clean through her armor and into her left shoulder, rendering it somewhat useless.

"Testa di cazzo!" he cursed at the man while stabbing him repeatedly.

Blood was pouring out of the wound in Mira's arm. The pair finished off the fourth and fifth bandit as the caravan caught up with them. Zevran wiped his bloodstained face and focused on Mira. She was holding onto her left arm, slightly hunched over, her skin had become ashen and she swerved slightly.

Fent and Iona, followed by a small stream of soldiers and footmen, surrounded the carnage and helped the young woman to her feet.

Zevran put an arm around Mira to help steady her. Examining her wound further, he cursed under his breath. "Brasca! Poison!"

"I'm fine. It's nothing," she mumbled with an obvious look of pain on her face.

"Sit here, I will return shortly." He led her to an overturned tree and sat her down.

Lady Iona came to stand behind him, startling him as she spoke. "I have some things in the cart that will mend this in no time." She motioned to Fent, who nodded, entering the caravan.

Zevran looked up at her, "I can make a remedy, the poison, it's an anticoagulant meant to go straight to the heart."

Knowing that there was no arguing with the assassin, she responded kindly. "Good thinking, I shall attend to the wound itself. "

He nodded at her gracefully and ran back to their mounts. Fent handed Iona a bowl of water and several cloths. The liquid turned a deep crimson as each of the cloths were soaked in blood.

Zevran returned a few minutes later, with both mounts. He dropped his satchel at their feet and began to rummage through it.

"Porca vacca," he cursed louder. "I know I packed them!"

Mira was starting to look better. "I'm fine, Zev, really."

His face distorted in a scowl as he looked up at her from the ground.

"See, my Iona does good work." Fent placed an assuring hand on his shoulder. Iona picked up the soiled rags and bowl nodding and smiling as she returned to the Caravan.

"I know I put dem in here!" he spat.

Mira grazed the side of his cheek with her palm. "Hey." Her voice was soothing as she lifted up his face. "Look, no harm done, see?" She smiled at him removing the cloth wrapped tightly around her arm.

Fent chuckled while patting Zevran on the back. "Look hardly a scratch. Nothing to worry about, my boy."

Zevran sneered, still wary of the situation. Upon examining her further, he noticed that her color and breathing had returned to normal, and the gash in her arm was now only a slight red mark. He straightened himself, turning to Fent.

"Yes it seems so." His face softened and he closed his satchel. "Forgive my manners, I thank you."

He stood shaking Fent's hand still angered at his misjudgment in packing.

"Shall we address our newly met damsel in distress?" Fent offered with a swish of his brow and a charming grin.

Iona had turned her attention to the young woman. She knelt beside her, tending to her wounded leg. "Feeling much better, I assume?" Iona looked up at Mira as they approached.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, before crouching to address the stranger. "That was some nice footwork you had there." Mira smiled at the girl.

Iona grinned, "I do believe you said your name was Phoebe?" She said cocking her head to the side, staring at her as she finished the bandage.

"Yes, my Lady." She looked up at them and smiled tentatively, wincing in pain. She wore servants clothing, but was remarkably stunning; a human with platinum blond hair, and crystal blue eyes. If it wasn't for her ears, one would have mistaken her for an elf. "I thank you so much, Sers, for your trouble in aiding me, I am forever grateful." Phoebe bowed her head in gratitude.

"It was nothing," Zevran smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm always happy to help a beautiful woman in peril," he chuckled seductively.

"Ahem!" Mira coughed into her hand, staring up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Zevran shifted uncomfortably, "We, I mean we...yes…" He looked away, up at the sky.

"So, we should move on, yes?"

"Agreed," Iona said, standing and helping Phoebe to her feet. "If I am not mistaken, you said you were headed to the West Hills, my dear." Phoebe nodded, still uneasy on her wounded leg. Iona continued, "You may ride with us if you would like. There is a small day bed in our caravan so you may rest that leg of yours." There was a motherly tone in her voice that Mira had not heard before.

Zevran was still miffed at himself. He remembered clearly packing his satchel the night before and was growing suspicious of their traveling companions. _"Why would simple bandits need to use poison on one girl?" _he thought to himself, scowling.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Nights at camp were spent drinking and eating well, as promised. Zevran's suspicions, although still present, had diminished slightly. Perhaps the servant boy had simply dropped his satchel and was unable to recover all of the contents. It was a possibility.

They were a few days ride from the West Hills when Iona recommended a particular site for that nights camping. There was a small clearing in the trees bordered by large boulders and a stream leading into a small pond. It was quite lovely. Their foot soldiers made quick work of setting up the camp. Zevran took this opportunity to scout the surrounding area for possible attack points.

Mira followed the stream for a short while until she found a tucked away spot with a small waterfall. _"Here,"_ she thought, _"this is just what I need. "_ She knelt down unbuckling her boots and took a moment to let her feet breathe while removing two small bottles from her pack. Throughout all the fighting and the bloodshed, she still yearned to pamper her girlish side. She sat on the bank for a moment appreciating her calm surroundings. The sky had turned a deep shade of purple as the sun began to set. She slipped into the cool water, unaware that she was being watched.

Zevran had perched himself atop a large boulder on the opposite side of the bank, and cloaked in stealth, he watched her as she ran her hands over her glistening body, letting the water cascade down her long black hair. The corners of his mouth curved lustfully, aroused by her silhouette.

A rustle in the trees caught his eye as he turned his attention from Mira. A young foot soldier from the caravan, stumbled backwards out of the forest, his arms full of firewood. As he turned around his eyes widened as they met with the naked backside of the Warden.

Still cloaked, Zevran sprinted across a fallen tree and appeared behind the boy, a single dagger pressed against his throat. "If I was you, I would not make a single sound," he said, low and dangerous. The boy swallowed hard. "A beautiful sight to behold, is she not?" He could feel the young boy tense and tremble beneath his firm grasp. "I would be careful what you do next, as the sight may be your last."

"I...I…I'm sorry I didn't mean, t-to..." the young man stuttered.

"Yes, we all make mistakes, now turn around and slowly and head straight back to camp. I wouldn't dally, were I you."

"Yes! Thank you!" he stammered, spun around and ran, dropping the pile of wood on Zevran's foot. He cursed "Hey!" Zevran called out, "You forgot..." he trailed off as the man was gone, "…your wood." He finished his sentence with a sigh and shook his head.

Mira emerged from the pool draping a thin slip over herself. "I know you're there Zevran, I can see you." She shook out her hair looking up to see him leaning against a tree.

"So the jig is up. I am caught, whatever shall you do with me." He smiled, slyly eying the damp cloth clinging to her naked body.

"Well, for starters..." she pulled him towards her, smiling.

"Oh, dis should be good," he purred.

"I think you need a bath." Before he knew it, she had spun him around and shoved him, sending him careening into the lake. Mira doubled over laughing.

Startled, he gathered himself up, now soaking wet. "Ha. Ha. Is that so? If this is the case..." She was still laughing as he threw his arms around her. "I am taking you down with me!" he said throwing them both backward into the lake.

She dove under the water, helping to relieve him of his boots. He groaned as she snaked herself around his legs, running her tongue up his thigh. He tossed his remaining armor off to the bank, reached down and lifted her up. They stared at each other briefly, fervidly. He brushed his lips against hers, caressing her hair as he began to kiss her. Her hands explored the smooth surface of his chest, making their way down to his abdomen. He moaned softly as she took his length into his hands. He slid his hands down her back pausing to gently caress her bottom before lifting her up.

She tilted her head back as she wrapped her legs around him. He nibbled and kissed down the side of her neck as she purred in his ear. He placed his hands on her waist rolling her torso back and running his tongue down her chest. His tongue flickered and rolled over her nipples, engorging them. She felt his excitement harden as she rubbed against him. Lifting her again and pulling his body in close she let out a small gasp as he entered her. "Mi amore," he moaned, nuzzling his face in her neck.

Walking with her still in his arms, he laid her down on the sand, staring into her eyes as he pushed into her further, her inner muscles tightening around him. Mira, tensed with pleasure as she felt his length rhythmically pushing and pulling along her wetness. He moaned against her ear, pulling back to look at her. He became even more aroused taking in how beautiful she looked beneath him and her lips parted in ecstasy. Lost in feeling himself buried inside her, he tilted up her head and their eyes met. Feeling her pleasure grow he quickened his pace as they held on tighter, trying to prolong the climatic release. Mira's whole body shook as her body gave into orgasm.

They lay there entwined in one another's embrace, breathing heavily. She stared up into his bright amber eyes and he brushed away the strands of hair, clinging to her face and kissed her again.

The forest was calm, crickets chirping in perfect cadence as they walked, her hand in his, back to the campsite. Several heads lifted up as they approached the fire. "Ahh, welcome back my friends." The long, poised hand of Iona gestured at them from behind the fire. She motioned to one of her guards, and he promptly poured them some wine.

"Thank you," Mira said graciously to the guard as he handed her a goblet.

"I believe you met my footman, Ren." Iona pointed to the young man Zevran had met earlier in the woods. "Yes. I believe I owe him an apology for our little mix up earlier," he smiled coolly.

Iona let out a short, high-pitched laugh. "No harm done, boys will be boys, as they say, yes?"

"Mmm," Zevran nodded in agreement.

"I do so hope you enjoy the wine," Iona urged them to drink up. "This is my special vintage; it is ...an old family recipe."

The wine smelled sweet, and buttery, yet musky and moldy. Not entirely undrinkable, but enough to give one pause before indulging. They tentatively sipped the pungent beverage. To their surprise, it was much more palatable then they had expected.

Zevran and Mira relaxed on one of the mats piled with pillows. He sat behind her to the left, one leg propped up behind her. She settled cross-legged, with her arm on his knee. Phoebe sat on the opposite side of the fire, polishing a long cylindrical object, before placing it to her lips. Flute music began to play softly, unnoticeable at first, as if it had been there all along.

Iona and Fent began to dance as the tempo picked up. The two elves were amused, laughing and watching. One after another, the foot men began to stand, dancing in an almost trance like state. Changing, twisting, the music rang louder in their ears.

Zevran stood in one fluid motion, bowing in a flamboyant manner, and offering her his hand.

Mira threw back her head and laughed, taking his hand and standing. As she curtsied, he placed a light kiss on her hand, grinning with tomfoolery in his eyes. He grabbed her by the waist, tightly holding her close to him. Taking the same deep breath against each other's chests, they began to dance.

The older man Fent, offered a hand to Mira, just as Phoebe offered a hand to Zevran. Still laughing, they accepted. Fent twirled her around the fire, and the faster they spun the more they laughed. It was intoxicating.

Mira, tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She seemed to be spinning alone briefly, before she opened them. To her surprise she was back in the arms of Zevran, smiling wickedly, staring at her, his eyes drooped in adoration, and it seemed as if they were standing still and the world was spinning around them. He placed a gentle hand on the back of her head and moved into kiss her. The kiss felt strange, not at all like the lips she had come to know and love. A taste of steel and blood filled her mouth, and then, there was nothing but blackness.

A haze started to lift as Zevran shook his head, and he wiped the dirt from one side of his mouth and his head. Lying next to him, sprawled out on top of her bedroll, was Mira. Dirt smeared across her back and side, her arm draped over her face.

"Mir, "he whispered, wiping the pebbles from her eyes.

"Mmmm..." she murmured, her arm flopping to the back of her head. "Oh, there it is..." she groaned.

"There is _what_, my dear Warden."

"My arm...I thought for sure I had no limbs left." Her eyes fluttered open, squinting in the daylight.

He chuckled, pressing a hand to his head, trying to sooth his own pain "I know what you mean...what happened, last night? I feel like I've been dragged naked behind a Bronto."

"If you were, it was probably chasing mine." With a great effort, she managed to turn and look at him, feeling the soreness all through her body.

"Do you think they raced us?" he said, feeling noticeably strained himself.

"I wonder who won." She forced a smile as he helped her to sit.

He rolled to his knees, unfastening the tent flap. All that remained of last night's celebration was the smoldering coals of the fire. There was nothing. Zevran turned back to her and said, "You're not going to like dis." Dreading what it could be, she pulled herself toward the opening.

They emerged, shocked to discover the campsite abandoned. He knelt down examining a bloodstain on the ground. Grabbing a sample and rubbing it between his fingers, he sniffed it. She looked down at him questioningly. "Definitely smells like blood." He wiped his hand on his armor and stood.

"There are no track marks, none from the carriages, or the horses." Motioning to the only visible marks on the ground, she continued. "But look here, two different drag marks straight to our tent."

"Well that explains a lot. At least dey had the decency to drag us to the tent before they vanished into thin air," Zevran said darkly.

Mira curled up her lips in disapproval. "How noble and polite of them."

"Indeed," he grunted in agreement.

They walked in silence for quite awhile. Zevran was racking his still foggy brain, for some shred of a memory from the night before. Nothing. There was wine and dinner, and conversation. Flute music, such wonderful flute music. A shard of a memory of dancing…then blackness.

Mira was contemplating the events of the evening as well. Walking beside him, an urge to be sick washed over her. All the color drained from her face and she became ashen. He grabbed her by the arm as she doubled over and fell to her knees, grasping her stomach. Her torso convulsed and her chest heaved vomit, and blood splattered onto the road. He grabbed her hair, holding it with one hand while he stroked her shoulder with the other. Upon looking down, he was horrified as he noticed the amount of blood spewing forth from her mouth. Her skin burned almost uncomfortably through his glove, as her muscles spasmed under the force of her retching.

"Here drink dis." He poured water in to her mouth from his water skin. She crouched, gasping for air as the heaving subsided. Zevran knelt beside her and lifted her head to get a better look, "Are you alright? Look at me." His amber eyes filled with concern.

Mira wiped the blood from her mouth, looking at the display of gore at her feet. "I think so..."

He looked at the contents of her stomach, then back at her. "Ughhh, what was that, wine?" She said disgusted.

"More like, what was _in_ that wine, if you ask me." His brow furrowed as he helped her to her feet.

She retrieved a small healing poultice from her satchel, the red liquid coating her scratched throat causing the pain to subside a bit. "Probably just a bad hangover," she said giving him a reassuring look.

He sighed, throwing her arm over his shoulder. "Still, we should probably find you a healer once we arrive at the tower. Just to be safe."

"Aww, you're worried, again." She said flashing him a grin.

He rolled his eyes, "Well, it just seems you just won't be as much fun if you are dead, or so I am told."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

A/N- I decided to go with Italian for the most part with Antivan language. Antiva as you all know I'm sure, is loosely based off of Venice. Been there Loved It! Had a cute little romance with the son of a vendor in San Marco Square. I was 14, and that's where I got my first kiss. Can't beat the romance out of that. Ahhhh Venice..., but that's a whole other story. Big Giant Kudos to ZevGirl for all her help. Go check her out if you haven't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch 7**

**Can We Not Maim the Locals?**

Lake Calenhad was still quite a long distance away and on foot, it would take much longer. They set up camp as the sun set, finished what little food they had left and sat together in silence. It was a cool autumn night and the fire kept them significantly warmer. Zevran noticed Mira shivering and upon placing an arm around her, he found her body was warmer than it should have been. He put his hand against her forehead, feeling a cold sweat on her brow.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, concerned. She stared at the fire with a distant look on her face. "Mir?" He put a hand on her shoulder squeezing it gently. Mira shook her head in an effort to dispel the fog in her mind.

"I'm sorry...what?" Her eyes were glazed over and it seemed as though she were looking straight through him.

"I believe you should lay down, my Grey Warden," he said in a low and calm voice. With that, he lifted her up by the arm and helped her into the tent. All night long, her body shivered against him as he lay with his arms wrapped around her. As morning came, she seemed to be doing better, still clammy and warm, but not shaking as badly.

They took their time walking, stopping every so often to rest. It was early evening when they reached the peak of a hill overlooking miles of treetops. In the far off distance, they could see several rooftops and bellowing chimney smoke. Mira's legs and back were aching far more then she lead on. Zevran watched her closely noticing as her pace began to slow.

She came to a stop and knelt down, groaning. "Maker, not this again." Her mouth began to water as her stomach lurched forward. He quickly crouched beside her as she dry heaved. Her face became flushed and hot to the touch. The retching subsided but she continued to cough violently, spraying little droplets of blood across the ground. Blood had smeared across her lips and chin as she looked up at him. Staring at him blankly she simply said, "Oww," before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

In one swift movement, Zevran was holding her head, "Mira?" he said sharply. She didn't respond. Putting a hand to her neck, he felt the quickness of her pulse. She coughed again as a fine stream of blood trickled down her chin. The village was a short distance away so he abandoned their tent and bedrolls, hiding them in a nearby thistle. Returning to her side, he lifted her head again. Her lips were pale and her breathing was erratic. He gathered her from the ground and carried her. She was surprisingly heavy for having such a small frame.

The door of the small tavern was crowded with drunken farmers who stood in shock as he kicked open the door. With a nod, he nonchalantly strolled to the barkeep.

The man looked at the pale elf in his arms before looking at Zevran. His eyes glinted for a moment before he spoke. "What can I do for ya?"

"Well, for starters, a room would be nice," Zevran said, half smirking and winking.

The man chuckled darkly. "Too much ale, am I right?" He turned around and unlocked a small cabinet.

Zevran readjusted her weight bouncing her slightly. "It would seem so," he said, answering the barkeep's remark. The man pulled a key from a hook and looked at him. Zevran looked at the man and then back at Mira.

"Right," the barkeep said noticing the obstacle in lieu of payment. "I'll just see you to your room then." He cleared his throat and led the way. Zevran laid her on the bed and paid the man.

"If there is anything more you need, I am Frank," the man added before closing the door.

Frank returned to the bar. A few of his usual patrons were huddled over their libations grumbling in agreement before one of them spoke up. "Oi, Frank, so your lettin' knife ears bring their whores in here now?" The small group laughed, waiting for his answer.

Frank lowered his brow, "Keep it down will ya, I don't want any trouble." He continued to wipe the bar.

"What? So you mean we can all have a go at her?" another more slender man chided while laughing.

Frank looked away annoyed. "Did you not see the markings on his face?" he said in a low voice.

Leaning over the bar, he motioned them to come closer. "He's a Crow I tell ya," Frank said with a nod. "So unless you intend to drink ale through the gash in yer throat, I think it's best to keep your mouths shut," he said strictly.

Zevran carefully removed her armor. She was soaked in sweat, shivering once again. Hair clung to her face in bundles. He swept it aside feeling the sweat under his palm. Gently placing a kiss on her forehead he told her he would be back soon.

Keeping his head down, he passed unnoticed until he reached the nearest corner of the bar. "Frank, my good man," he said. Frank whipped his head around startled as Zevran continued. "Might I ask you for a bucket of water and a cloth?"

"Of course, just gimme a minute," he replied cheerfully.

"Oi! Frank!" A lanky man gestured at him splashing ale from his mug. Frank sighed heavily, rolling his eyes trying to ignore him. The drunkard stomped his way closer giving Zevran a taunting look. "How are you gonna let that sick knife ear in here?" he sneered. "Little whore will make us all sick!"

Exchanging a quick look with Frank, Zevran had one of the man's arms pinned, standing behind him with a dagger pressed firmly against his throat. "I want you to listen very carefully to me, yes? The woman up stairs iz not a whore, she iz a Grey Warden, and you would do well to remember this," Zevran hissed in a low and dangerous voice.

Not heeding the warning, the drunkard produced a small knife and feebly attempted to stab him. Zevran grabbed him by the wrist twisting it, and with a yelp, the man let go. The knife slid easily into his hand and he threw it, nearly missing the barkeep who had bent down to fetch a cloth. The unruly drunkard yelled as pain shot across the right side of his head, followed shortly by a scream that closely resembled a little girl as his right ear toppled down his chest. Blood ran down his neck and pooled onto the floor. In shock, the man grabbed the side of his head and staggered backward before turning into a full run. He hit the door with such force the rest of the patrons thought he would run straight through it. Zevran leaned on the bar casually as the barkeep calmly removed the knife from the wall and handed over the bucket and cloth.

"Sorry about dat," Zevran sighed.

Frank shrugged. "One less village idiot to babysit." He looked up at the small crowd gathered about the stairs and continued louder, "Unless anyone else feels the need to fill the position?" The crowd turned away, returning to their own conversations.

"Besides," the barkeep leaned in closer to Zevran, "I've been telling that git to shut up every night for the past year," he scoffed. "The man just doesn't listen." Frank shook his head, continuing to wipe the counter.

A fiendish smile spread across Zevran's face. "Glad I could be of service. Perhaps you could hang this little trinket on your wall. " He produced the man's severed ear and tossed it on the bar. "As a reminder, no?" he chuckled.

Frank jerked his head back at the mangled piece of meat and contemplated it for a moment. "Not a bad idea," he smirked.

The crowd parted as Zevran carried the bucket up to the room. Breathing hard and sweating profusely, Mira shifted in her sleep. Her dreams were fragmented with dancing and laughter. What at first were human faces became twisted and contorted. Decaying skin falling from their faces and bodies, each one grabbing at her flesh as to sample it like fine meat. An unshakable feeling of hopelessness and unbridled fear gripped at her mind. Zevran knelt beside her, ringing out the damp cloth and patting her forehead with it. She groaned softly arching her back and squirming in discomfort.

It felt as if her body was falling and she groaned as she stirred from sleep. She felt a weight on her stomach and lifted her hand, feeling a braid of long hair and a pointy ear. Slowly her eyes began to focus as the blurry head of Zevran came into view. "Mmm," she purred, arousing from sleep. "Where are we?" Mira yawned slowly taking in her surroundings.

He smiled wearily and stretched. "A small village off of the West Hills," he said, sluggishly standing. He put a hand to her cheek, she felt normal with no signs of any illness.

"I don't know what happened." She lowered her brow evaluating her recent condition, before she continued. "It's probably just a tainted blood thing." She yawned again sitting on the edge of the bed. "Remind me to write Alistair and ask him."

He shot her a vexed look. "I'll get right on dat," he said blandly.

She stood from the bed and walked to him, wrapping her arms around his abdomen and hugging him from behind. Taking her hands in his he turned around and kissed her.

Zevran set out to retrieve the supplies he had stashed, replenish the supplies he had lost, and hopefully, procure two horses. This left Mira to ready herself and find something to eat. As she waited for her food, she composed a letter to Alistair inquiring if it was normal for Wardens to randomly vomit blood. She sealed it and handed it to the barkeep.

Zevran returned a few hours later to find Mira sitting at the bar chatting up Frank, who was still trying to clean up the bloodstains from the night before. She raised a brow at him as he entered. "Really, Zevran, you would think that there might be one place that we could go without maiming the locals," she smiled warmly.

He shrugged and slipped onto the stool next to her. "Yes, well...old habits die hard, no?" She chuckled and shook her head.

Outside a fully packed, haggard looking horse stood. Zevran strolled around it nonchalantly. "Unfortunately I was only able to secure one mount, an old mare. She has seen better days but she is strong." Looking at her with his usual seductive demeanor, he continued. "May I suggest you ride in front while I hold the reigns, this way I will have a better hold on you," he paused for a moment, "should you fall ill again."

"I'm not fragile, Zev!" she pouted as he lifted her up into the saddle.

"Did I say dat, my Warden? I merely wish to make your ride more...enjoyable," he said with a chuckle as he slid in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and purposefully grazing a breast.

"A more enjoyable ride for whom?" she said as she turned around smirking. He laughed mischievously and they took off.

They approached the docks of Lake Calenhad close to sunset several days later. Upon arriving at the Tower, they were greeted coldly by the Templar guards. "State your business," a muffled voice said sharply behind a faceless helmet.

"That's the Grey Warden you **pillock**!" the second Templar snapped from behind him.

"Oh, right," the first Templar said as he cleared his throat. "Here to see the First Enchanter then?"

The second Templar put a hand to his helmet and shook his head. "No, they're here to see your mum do that nug trick she showed us last winter," he said, rudely smacking the other guard in the back of the head so that his helmet sat crooked. "This way, please." The second Templar sighed and led them to a small waiting room.

The pair of Templars guarding the sitting room was not so entertaining. They stood statuesquely on either side of the door and remained so still that Zevran and Mira swore they were asleep.

"You know, I have always wondered why it iz that these Templars are so well armored on the top, yet wear these little skirts on the bottom," he whispered in her ear, slowly eying the guard. "It doesn't make much sense to leave your sensitive areas so exposed, no?" He put a finger to his chin and cocked his head to the side.

"Go have a peak underneath," she said, lowering her eyes and grinning. "Tell me if you find anything interesting," she snickered. As Zevran was standing to investigate, the door opened. First Enchanter Irving entered the room, followed by Ser Greagoir.

"I apologize for the wait," Irving said in his low monotonous voice. "What can I do for you?" Mira presented him with the missive from Alistair. After reading through it, he handed it Greagoir and asked that they accompany him to his study.

Irving's study had changed since she last saw it. Albeit the last time she was there, it was in shambles and on fire. Greagoir and Irving found the missive disturbing. Unsure of the exact purpose of the hidden room they did agree that it deserved a proper investigation. Available and trustworthy mages were still in short supply. It would take some time for them to consider the most appropriate team to send.

Zevran spoke up during a lull in the conversation. "It seems as though my Warden has contracted an illness. Perhaps you might have a healer to spare?"

Irving's interest piqued and he raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Is this so, my friend?" he asked looking her over.

"It's probably nothing," she said casually.

"Vomiting blood followed by a fever hotter than the sun is nothing, yes?" Zevran stared at her with a stern look on his face.

"Mmmm," Irving pondered for a moment. "Could be something, could be nothing, better to be safe. Come with me," he said thoughtfully.

Irving and Greagoir led them to a large room. Bottles and vials filled with herbs and oils lined the cabinets on the walls. In the center, was a long table on which Irving directed her to sit. He left them there briefly before returning with another mage in tow.

A woman about the age of thirty strolled towards the table, and asked her a series of questions. Mira mentioned that they had possibly been drugged some nights before. The healer then turned to Zevran. "You have not experienced any of these symptoms?" she said looking over him carefully.

"No," he said darkly. The mage suggested he lie on the table, noting that if it was in fact poison, she could not heal, but she could detect.

A white light emanated from her fingertips dancing over his body. She stepped back and took a deep breath. "It seems that the poison you were given was meant to kill you," she said apathetically.

"What!" Mira's eyes widened in anger. "They tried to kill him!" She was furious.

"Unsuccessfully," Zevran chuckled dryly. "I have an unusually high tolerance if not an immunity to most poisons," he smiled confidently. "All part of my training as a Crow."

"I think you're missing the point, Zev," she snarled. "They tried to kill you!"

"Now look who's worried," he said in a cocky tone. Mira rolled her eyes at him as she lay on the table.

The mage placed her hands over her emanating the same white light, only this time she froze. A look of horror twisted up her face and her eyes turned solid black. Glowing red droplets seeped from Mira's body grasping and engulfing the mages arms, taking hold of her as if to probe and pry into her very soul. Mira arched her body as if her chest was on a string. The mage screamed as the crimson liquid snaked around her limbs burning her skin and twisting around her arms. Zevran lurched forward in an attempt to aid her, when Irving put a hand to his chest, stopping him. He nodded and motioned to the Templar Guard. He grabbed the mage by the shoulders, performing a cleansing, and the substance subsided and the mage collapsed. The Templar hoisted her over his shoulder and quietly exited the room.

Zevran was at Mira's side in a breath. She groaned and sat up looking perplexed and scratching her head. "What are you all staring at?" she asked, dumbfounded. Irving, Greagoir and Zevran exchanged a look of bewilderment. "I don't remember a healing that resulted in a massive headache afterward. Do you?" she said, massaging her temples.

Irving and Greagoir excused themselves to converse quietly in the hall. Zevran helped Mira off the table. "You saw nothing of your healing?" he asked examining her face. She frowned and shook her head.

Irving and Greagoir came back in the room. He suggested that they stay for the evening, for now he would have to look into the condition of the mage.

Another Templar guard showed them to a guest room. It was spacious, a large comfortable bed, a desk and a vanity, more to their liking was the large stone bath which sat behind a wall in the back of the room.

A few apprentices were kind enough to fill the bath with hot water. Mira pulled off her armor and slid into the bath. She lowered herself into the water and wet her hair. Zevran growled under his breath taking in the site of his Warden glistening wet. He removed his own armor and slipped in behind her, and sitting, he wrapped his legs around her tightly and nestled his face in her neck.

An hour or so later they lay tangled up in each other on the bed. It was still early evening and they both had felt pangs of hunger. Not yet tired, they decided to find their way to the Spoiled Princess just across the lake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch 8 **

**The Spoiled Princess**

The Spoiled Princess was busy with drunken patrons. The pair of elves settled down at a table off to the side. They exchanged silent glances as a few unruly drunkards made lurid comments about Mira. Zevran grinned at Mira. "I take it you will be fine for a moment?" A dangerous look crossed his face as he glared at the leering men.

"I'll try really hard not to maim the locals." The corners of her mouth curved upward in a smirk and he chuckled darkly as he turned towards the bar, leaving her at the table.

He had ordered some mead and two mutton stews, when a loud booming gritty voice shouted across the room. "ELF!" Zevran whipped around as several patrons were shoved out of the way.

"ELF!" The now familiar voice shouted, followed by a swerving ginger dwarf. With a mug of ale in one hand, he squeezed him in a suffocating hug.

"Oghren..." Zevran choked breathlessly. "What are you-"

Oghren cut him off. "By the stone, am I happy to see you!"

Before Zevran could reply, the far corner of the room erupted as a man came crashing through a table.

"And the warden is here, too!" Oghren exclaimed, drunkenly overjoyed.

"So it seems," Zevran said in a deadpan tone, raising an eyebrow. They headed over to inspect the mess, along with a not so pleased barkeep.

Mira stood over an unconscious man. "Er...sorry about that..." she shrugged.

The innkeeper stood behind her. "Charming," he muttered and walked away in an exasperated posture.

Before she could dust herself off, Oghren had her in a bear hug. "Warden!"

"Ogh...ren", she choked, "your killing me!"

"Heh! Squishy elves," he muttered releasing her.

Zevran clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, and what was it about _not_ maiming the locals?" he said glancing at the unconscious man on the floor and prodded him with his boot.

"I didn't maim him." She eyed him innocently. "He was so intent on getting to know me better, I just had to introduce him to the table, and the floor, and that chair over there." She delicately picked bits of splintered wood off her leathers and flicked them to the floor.

Oghren pushed himself through the small crowd, advancing on a larger table. The occupants readily pushed back their chairs and vacated.

"What are you doing here, Oghren?" Mira inquired with a mouthful of mutton stew.

"I got sent to catch up with you." He took a large swig from his mug. "Took your sodding sweet time getting here too," he grumbled. "So what took you two so long anyway? Making up for lost time rutting in every corner of the forest?" Oghren wiggled his bristly eyebrows suggestively.

"Not exactly," Zevran answered him, any hint of a smile fading from his face.

Mira leaned on her elbows. "There were mistrials, a woman in peril, we got drugged, Zev cut some guys ear off, the usual," she said, swirling her hand lethargically as she rambled off the list of events. Zevran sat back, his mouth pulled down in a frown.

"What? There were drugs? And women in peril? Sounds like my kind of party!" Oghren exclaimed boisterously.

"For you maybe." Zevran rolled his eyes. "Personally, I like to remember my conquests, whatever they may be." He folded his arms and stared at a spot on the ceiling.

"Then they robbed us of our mounts," Mira growled.

Oghren rolled back in his chair, laughing. "You two!" He waved a pointer finger between the two elves.

"You two!" he said, laughing too hard to finish his sentence. "You two… got robbed!" he finally wheezed.

"Yes, yes...We got robbed, and drugged. Are you happy?" Zevran grumbled glaring at the dwarf.

Oghren's laughter subsided as he leaned in seriously. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

The pair exchanged looks, deciding it was better to fill him in to the best of their ability.

Zevran cleared his throat. "As I said, neither of us remembers much. The hangover was a bit of a challenge when we awoke in our tent the next morning, made worse by the absence of our traveling companions," he scowled.

Mira stared aimlessly at the floor. "We had to walk, then I threw up blood, and Zev cut some guys ear off...that's all I know," she said dryly.

Zevran watched her for a moment before Oghren chimed in. "You," he waved his index finger at her, "puked blood, " he switched his stare to Zevran, "and you cut some guys ear off?" He raised his eyebrows and waggled his finger between the two before taking a long pull from his mug.

Mira turned to Zevran." I never did ask you about that?" she said with a curious expression on her face.

Oghren got excited again, "Well spit it out already, we ain't got all night!" He leaned in closer to Zevran. "What'd he do, mistake you for a bar wench?" Zevran shot them a dirty look as they snickered.

Sighing, he continued. "If you must know, Mira did not fair too well after out little encounter, we managed to find an inn… of sorts."

She cut him off, stubbornly defending herself. "I wasn't that bad."

"So you consider shaking, night sweats, and a fever that could melt steel, fine, yes?" he responded to her in a cocky tone.

She lowered her eyes and stared at the floor, her memory still foggy. He frowned and sighed apologetically. "I left to get some fresh water and a cloth. " He looked away. "I had no sleep, I was, grumpy. The man said something ...less than endearing about our fair Warden here. He simply would not listen to reason, so I cut off his ear, as a reminder." He glanced back at her for a moment, and she smiled mischievously and grabbed his hand under the table.

"You two make me sick...just watching ya makes _me_ wanna vomit blood!" Oghren snorted.

"So tell me Oghren, why _are_ you here?" Mira sat back in her chair, cocking a half smile.

"Oh, right!" Oghren said, and belched loudly. He sat forward leaning on his mug of ale. "Let's see," he began. "About a week after you two split, a few of the guards turned up missing, no one thought much of it, until," he paused, putting a hand to his head trying to prompt a memory. "er...what's her name? The cook…"

"Matilda?" Zevran asked trying to help.

"No, no, no, the old one!" Oghren waved his hand around trying to provoke the name.

"Irma?" Zevran tried again.

"No! The ugly one! With the beard!" he said gesturing to his own facial hair.

"Oh, Wilma," Zevran said calmly.

"Yeah! That's the one!" Oghren said gesturing with his mug. "You sure that's a woman?" he said rocking back in his chair and raising an eyebrow in question.

"I honestly didn't feel the urge to get dat close." Zevran frowned at the thought of the hideous cook.

"However, the resemblance between you two is uncanny," he said and smirked at the dwarf.

"Heh, nah, I'm much prettier," Oghren said, primping his goatee.

"You were saying?" Mira prompted.

"What? Oh yeah." He took a large sip of ale before continuing. "So, Wilma had been griping for a week about a stench in the larder."

"Couldn't have been worse than yours," Zevran teased him, waving a hand under his nose.

"Watch it elf!" Oghren glared at him, as Mira snickered quietly.

"No one could stand it anymore, so King Charming sent us to investigate." They all chuckled at the phrase before he continued. "She wasn't lying! That larder smelled worse than Sten's small clothes after a long stint in the deep roads," Oghren said boisterously.

"Why were you sniffing Sten's small clothes?" Zevran wrinkled up his nose in disgust.

"Er...I wasn't!" he replied in a defensive tone." You were there; we could all smell em from the Anderfels!" he argued. "Just let me finish will ya!" He glowered at the pair and took a pull from his mug. "We moved a shelf, and behind it was this hidden closet. Inside was the half rotted corpse of a woman and a soldier." Oghren produced a sealed scroll. "Leliana prepared these documents for ya, see for yourself." He shoved the paper at Mira.

_My Dear Friends, _

_I recovered the missing census and am concerned over several discrepancies. I am sure Oghren has informed you of the disappearance of several staff members. Three bodies turned up shortly thereafter. Two were hidden in the larder. The other was much more unsettling, the headless body of a guard, disposed of in a crate was found near the garden. As you can imagine the staff in the palace are quite unnerved. The two corpses in the larder do not match any of the descriptions in the census Zevran and I composed. They do, however, match perfectly to the descriptions in the previously missing census. _

_One, being that of Leon, who was described as thirty years old with a large mole on his nose. In Zevran's version, he was described as forty years of age with silver hair. _

_The other was that of Mona, the head serving girl. She was an older woman in her fifties with long grey hair and brown eyes. Zevran's depiction of her was quite different, a younger girl of twenty with light blue eyes, shoulder length brown hair and a raised scar on the left side of her chest. _

_Unfortunately, revealing the identity of the third body will take some time, as we have not yet found his head. The recent events lead me to believe they were spies. For what purpose, we are not exactly certain, but we can safely assume they are linked to the hidden library Mira and Alistair discovered. Enclosed is the copy of the old and new census, please inform us of any other discrepancies you might find. I hope this missive finds you well and you will return soon._

_Yours truly, _

_Leliana_

She handed the missive to Zevran, who after reading it through, furrowed his brow in thought. "The girl from the road," he said while thumping the paper. "Now dat I think about it, she did resemble Mona." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "She had no scar on her breast, however," he said, fond of the thought.

"Your right, I've only seen eyes that color one other time, and Mona had them." Mira looked puzzled. "Phoebe had platinum hair, but appearances can be altered," she stated.

"This is true, but making it half way across Ferelden in dat amount of time, is impossible, no?" He perpended the idea, and took a swig from his mug.

Several hours and pints later, the three emerged from the tavern, stumbling and laughing until their sides hurt. Oghren was convinced that one of the boat oars had said something regarding his mother. Needless to say, the oar won. He climbed into the small boat and promptly passed out snoring and mumbling.

Drunk and exhausted, Mira and Zevran sat on the dock for a while, staring at the moon overhead.

"You did have me a bit worried there, what with de fever and the peculiar incident with the healer," Zevran said breaking the silence.

"Maybe she was just a crappy healer," Mira answered cynically, still staring at the sky.

Zevran watched her as the moonlight reflected off her face. "Perhaps, although I do not believe Irving would allow an apprentice to perform a healing on a Warden," he said as she rolled over to lean on her elbows.

Four large men walking towards them cut the quiet of the evening short. "That's the wench who got me," one of them shouted pointing at her.

"Oh, good," she groaned turning to look at Zevran.

"It seems these Ferelden's are in no short supply of stupid," he said darkly and unamused.

"Or ugly," she slurred while standing.

"What did you say, whore?" the first man shouted at her.

She straightened herself and cleared her throat. "I said, I've met darkspawn smarter then you, prettier too!" She shouted back, wobbling slightly and poking him in the chest.

He took a swing at her, of which she dodged, grabbing his arm and flipping him into the water. The two other men came at Zevran. However, the fourth man, the largest of the group, grabbed Mira by the throat, lifting her up and holding her over the water.

His attention directed at his Warden, Zevran quickly subdued one of the two men, tossing him into the small rowboat. Neither of which knew who was more startled, the man who landed on a sleeping dwarf, or Oghren.

"Get offa me!" Oghren yelled. "I ain't into that kinda stuff!" he shouted and tossed the man into the water.

The larger man was eying Mira like meat. "We're gonna have some fun you and me," he said while grabbing himself lewdly.

"Not...My...Type!" She swung one of her dangling legs back and nailed him in the groin.

"Bitch!" he yelled doubling over in pain and throwing her into a wall. There was a distinct thud as her head collided with stone as she slid to the ground unconscious.

"Oh, that was stupid!" Oghren yelled tackling the man, sending them both flying into the water.

Zevran shot off the dock and was at her side in less than a second, lifting up her head as she came to.

"Oww...That was embarrassing," she moaned rubbing her head.

Oghren, still pummeling the man in the water was shouting. "No one throws my friends into walls!" Submerging him, and lifting him up again, he continued to beat on his face.

Ignoring the watery beat down in the background, Zevran ran a hand across the back of her head. "Are you alright?" he said as he stared at her intently.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "My pride is hurt the most," she said, looking at him sheepishly.

He chuckled, "Alas, there is no cure for a bruised ego, my dear," he said as he smiled warmly at her before turning to Oghren. "Oghren...?"

"You bloody, nug lickin!" Splash, grunt, splash, thump!

"Oghren!" he yelled louder.

"What?" The dwarf shouted angrily.

"You can stop pummeling de man now," Zevran said calmly in a loud voice.

"Oh, right," he said as he dragged the man to the shore and dropped him. "You alright, Warden?" Oghren asked, gruffly while catching his breath.

"Yes, Oghren, thank you," she said as Zevran helped her to her feet.

Oghren stood on the dock looking over the edge. "Umm, remember that boat you had?" he said scratching his head.

"Yes?" Mira answered cautiously as they stepped up onto the dock, just in time to see it disappear into the dark water. "Well, remember it, cause there it goes," he chuckled.

"Oh, fantastic," Zevran grumbled.

"Well this is perfect, now what do we do?" Mira exhaled in frustration.

"No worries," Oghren patted Zevran on the back, "Ya can stay with us, Felsi'll give ya a room."

They both raised an eyebrow. "Unless you wanna sleep outside. Maker only knows with you elves," he muttered.

"No!" they replied simultaneously.

Zevran awoke to the sound of Oghren pounding on the door. He slipped his arm out from under Mira's head, and whispered softly in her ear. "Company, amore."

She pulled the covers over her head and groaned, her head pounding from the over indulgence of last night's spirits. Zevran answered the door.

"Woah!" Oghren stumbled backward. "Maker's ass, put some pants on you sodding pervert, I'm close to eye level with that thing!" he shouted as he covered his eyes.

"Ahh, ha, ha, come in my vertically challenged friend," Zevran gestured.

"Not until you put some pants on!" he demanded. Zevran strolled across the room slipping into a pair of tie string pants.

"Morning, Oghren," Mira mumbled from her undercover sanctuary.

"Heh, how you feelin this morning Warden?" he teased.

"Ugghhh, it's the wrath of grapes," she groaned and poked out her head. Zevran tossed her a shirt. Disappearing under the covers, she reappeared a moment later, clothed.

"I got a message from Leliana," Oghren announced producing a new missive.

"Oh?" Zevran said curiously.

"She wants us to travel to some place called Val Foret. Something about settling an old feud. I dunno, here." He handed the missive to Zevran.

After reading it through, he spoke. "It seems our dear Leliana has need of a good assassin."

"Then why'd she ask for you?" Oghren scoffed.

Mira threw a pillow at him, laughing.

"You wound me," Zevran jested with his hand over his heart. "It's only a few days ride to Jader, perhaps I can find the whereabouts of Isabela?" he suggested. Mira threw the covers over her head again, stifling a mischievous laugh.

"I don't wanna know," Oghren grumbled.

"I've never been out of Ferelden, I'm excited," Mira gleamed.

"It is always an adventure, traveling to foreign lands, meeting people and then murdering dem," Zevran laughed.

"We don't keep a lot of friends," she snickered

"I'll meet up with you in Val Royeaux, I have some things to take care of," Oghren stated abruptly.

"Oh? And what things are these," Zevran asked.

"None of your business elf!" he snapped, pointing a finger at him.

"Have it your way, my stubby little friend," he replied, shrugging off the dwarfs' rudeness.

They said their goodbyes to Oghren, and set off to find the boat to take them back to the tower.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch 9**

**Darastrix**

In a shabby, dimly lit room, far away from the normality of everyday village life, the watchful eyes of an eight-year-old girl stood quietly in a doorway. Her mother hurried about, clumsily gathering what seemed like random objects from shelves and cupboards and shoving them into a small satchel.

Her bright blue eyes were wide with consternation as her father knelt in front of her, brushing the raven-colored hair from her face. He took her by the shoulders firmly.

"Darastrix, you must remember everything your mother and I have taught you. Stay high, stay in the trees if you must. There is a map in your bag. Jader is about four days walking distance from here. Seek out a woman in the Chantry named Gerina and hand her this message." He placed a rolled up piece of parchment in her skirt pocket.

Her mother secured the satchel to the child's waist. "Whatever happens, " she said sternly, "do not let this out of your sight!" With that, she handed her a small square object wrapped in a silky cloth and tied together with string. Her mother put a hand on her face, kindly yet firmly demanding her attention. "Never! And I mean never, let anyone see this!"

There was a rustling outside as the animals stirred nervously in their pens. "Dear Maker!" her mother voiced, sounding more desperate. "They're coming!"

Rising steadily to his feet, the man placed a kiss on his daughter's forehead and turned toward his wife. "Quick Moria, light the torches."

With this, she hugged her daughter close. "Remember we love you very much, Dara."

The ground beneath their feet began to vibrate as Moria ran to light two strangely modified torches placed on either side of the door. A wave of lightning erupted in a pool encompassing the small shack, throwing the three mages off their feet.

Regaining her composure, Moria turned to him. "Not yet, Shey." Cautiously placing a hand on the door, she listened for what seemed to be an eternity. Shey stood in a defensive posture, in the center of the room. Dara clung to her father's robes, trying to disappear completely. Moria walked toward her husband, her back facing the door. She had taken only a few steps forward when, without warning, the door exploded sending countless slivers throughout the room. Dara shrieked, hiding her eyes in the folds of her father's robes.

"Moria!" he shouted racing to his wife's side. She gathered herself quickly taking his hand to stand.

"The barrier," she said shaken. "They've broken through!"

For the first time in a long while, Shey saw a panicked sadness in his wife's eyes. The unmistakable clanging of heavy armor drew closer.

"Surrender now, Malificars! And we will spare the child!" A low booming voice reverberated through the walls.

Shey and Moria gave a loving glance to their daughter, both placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "You know what you must do, Dara." Each gave her a warm smile.

To his daughter's horror, the man she called father ripped a knife from his back and in one swift motion, he sliced through the palm of his left hand, mutilating fingers and flesh. As the blood poured from his severed arteries, he spun himself round, spattering the encroaching army of Templars. Creatures spawned from every droplet of blood he shed, and the more he shed, the larger the monstrosity. Moria shielded her husband from the relentless onslaught of Templars as long as she could.

Darastrix squeezed her eyes shut and trembled as her form melted, molding herself into a rat. She scampered, dodging between the Templar's legs and escaping through the decimated doorway.

Shey crouched by the crumpled form of his wife.

"Don't let the little one get away!" a Templar bellowed from behind them.

"Over my dead body!" Moria shouted. Her voice deepened in an ominous growl as her head snapped up and her eyes begin glow.

Dara's body lurched forward as she caught the tail end of the Templar's Holy Smite. Reverting to her natural form, she laid in the mud, frozen. The scene behind her was horrifying. Bodies littered the ground. Twisted metal armor and limbs ripped from torsos, lay strewn in the rubble of the small cottage.

Able to move again, Dara picked herself up and stumbled backwards at the sight of what she once perceived as hollow inhuman metal men who now lay screaming in a wake of bloody destruction. Her focus turned on a man whose helmet had been ripped from his head. His bloodstained face contorted in pain, eyes wide in terror as he pulled his legless torso behind him begging her for help.

She tentatively approached the man as he gurgled and spit blood. Reaching out towards her, he grabbed her leg. Terrified, she kicked him, falling back into the mud and pushing herself backward.

A handful of Templars had risen to their feet, surrounding the illuminated form of a woman. She was tall, with an unnatural skin tone and large twisted horns crowing her head. The figure nodded to Dara and smiled, before waving her arms fluidly, setting each man ablaze as she did so. Dara scrambled to her feet, running frantically as her body molded itself into the form of a sparrow. The shouts and screams of battle faded into the distance, she never looked back.

Irving greeted them at the door when they arrived. "Welcome back. Were our accommodations not satisfactory?" he asked blandly.

Mira felt as if she had been caught sneaking out of her aravel to meet Tamlen. "No, no we...umm... had a bit of a mishap at the pub." She tried to sound apologetic.

"I take it everyone survived," he said raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," she answered, choking back a laugh.

Irving nodded. "Good to hear it, unfortunately we cannot say the same."

"What?" She was taken aback at his rather abrupt statement.

"Please," Irving motioned at them, "join me in my office, where we can speak privately." He turned slowly and ushered them down the hall.

Once they were seated, Irving began again in his dulcified tone. "It seems as though the mage who healed you, Gerta, has unexpectedly died."

Mira's face fell into a look of astonishment. "How?" she said simply.

Irving paced the room uncomfortably. "She became erratic, belligerent, clawing at her skin." He stopped and turned to face them. "I came to your quarters last night to see if you had any insight, but..."

Mira straightened her posture, remorseful for abandoning her duty for an ale. "I do apologize again, First Enchanter."

"It is not necessary, I am sure you had your reasons. Sometimes, I believe I am well over due for a drink myself." He waved her off as he continued. "When I returned to Gerta, she had gone mad, believing that killing the Warden would stop another blight."

"Forgive me for asking, but how was her mental state prior to dis healing," Zevran inquired dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"She was the picture of mental prowess," Irving answered, not at all offended by his question.

Returning to pacing his office, he began again. "What's stranger still is the way she died." He folded his hands in front of him in thought. "She ran herself through with a Templar sword," he said after a short breath.

"Ouch," Zevran scowled as Mira grimaced at the thought.

"Yes, the poor lad isn't taking it well." Irving exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "It is rare that a mage will receive an injury while performing a healing, not unheard of, but rare." He returned to his desk and took a seat. "Which lead me to a prompt investigation, I believe your hidden library may hold some answers for us, as well as the incident you had on your way here. I am not mistaken in assuming you are pursuing the caravan you spoke of?"

"You would assume correctly." Zevran lowered his eyes dangerously.

"We have other business as well, in Val Foret." Mira folded her hands in front of her, clutching them tightly.

Irving nodded and began writing on a slip of parchment. "There is a mages collective in Val Royeaux, a shadow-guild of sorts. They may hold some answers, if you can find them. I also suggest the College of Magi in Cumberland, should you need further assistance." He rolled up the list and handed it to Mira."I have assembled a team consisting of Dagna and a mage you may not have met, Finn. He is a linguist and quite proficient in ancient Tevinter history. They are accompanied by Ser Carroll." He clasped his fingers together and placed them on the desk in front of him. "Not my first choice in Templars, but Commander Greagoir thought it best," he sighed.

While walking to their room they overheard an excited conversation between two Guards regarding an apostate mage that had killed a small army of Templars. They seemed intent on killing her and paid little attention to Zevran and Mira as they left.

After gathering their things, they bid farewell to The Knight-Commander and The First Enchanter and headed north to Jader.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ch. 10**

**A/N – **In respect to Zevran's dialogue in the previous chapters. I had wanted to see if I could pull off something similar to how J.K. Rowlings wrote Hagrid's dialect in the Harry Potter series. The feedback I have gotten tells me _Zevran disapproves -50. _When I find the time I will correct the past dialogue and it will no longer exist in future chapters. Thanks to Raven Jadewolfe for the catches on improper use of Holsters and the annoying random lines that torment chapter 5. :) Special thanks to ZevGirl for cleaning up my act.

**Children Falling From the Sky**

They still only had one horse while traveling to Jader. Recent tragic events had been set aside as they found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the feel of their bodies rubbing together. Through his leather armor, Mira could feel Zevran's chest expand and contract against her back as she leaned into him. His arms wrapped firmly around hers, casually resting on her thighs as he held the reigns. Her hips pressed between his legs, swaying with the movement of their mount. He was finding it increasingly more difficult to conceal his arousal. Pressing his face against the nape of her neck breathing her in, he became lost in thought, daydreaming about a future of which he would never speak. Vague thoughts manifested in his mind like scenes from a play. A vision of a little Zevran, wrapped in a blanket, cooing at its mother.

_Ah, the Mother, _he thought as he lingered on the vision, her long dark hair clinging to her face as she held the infant. _Mira Arainai. _He rolled over the name thinking it had a certain ring to it, always reminding himself the possibility of its fruition was nothing more than just that, a dream. A good dream, but it would end, and in time become just another faded memory.

"Zev?" Mira asked, snapping him out of his trance.

He replied resting his chin on her shoulder. "Mmmmm?" His voice vibrated in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

"What is Jader like?" she asked turning her head to the side to meet his.

"Well now," he said sitting back, just hovering over her shoulder. "It is Orlesian, but like most border cities, it is a melting pot, a perfect place for all your smuggling needs and enough transients to maintain a very profitable _Massage Parlor_," he chuckled softly. "So basically it's noisy, dirty and overcrowded," he scoffed. "So overcrowded."

The horse stopped suddenly, jerking them forward. It stepped high, backing up and rearing, refusing to move. A few yards in front of them, a tree began to shake, its branches rustling wildly. While dismounting, they heard a suppressed yelp as a small figure plummeted to the ground.

"You see, it is so overcrowded, children are simply falling from the sky," he said smoothly and rolled his hand in a downward motion.

The child was disheveled and obviously shaken. "T-Templars..." she said breathlessly as she ran towards them. "Please... help," she stammered with a look of pure terror on her face.

"Templars?" she asked turning to him. "You think this is what the guards in the Tower were talking about?"

"Would you be surprised if it were so?" he said dryly.

"Please they're coming!" her voice raised as her desperation increased.

"Hide," Mira said quickly. "We will detour them."

Moments later, five Templars stormed up the path. "Commander," The Templar addressed her, "have you seen a child run through here?"

Mira raised an eyebrow. "Do children often run wild and rampant around here?" she answered flippantly as the Templar removed his helmet and glared at her, unamused by her attempt at humor.

"Why have you dismounted?" The Templar looked them over suspiciously.

"What? It is not a crime for two _lovers_ to engage in a little _fun_ while traveling, no?" Zevran answered with a slick roll of the tongue, grabbing Mira around the waist and pulling her in. A broad grin spread across her lips as she hung her arms around his neck, nibbling on his ear.

The Templar backed off, shifting uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Should you come across such a child, keep your distance, she is a murderer and extremely dangerous," he continued brusquely.

Zevran pulled her in closer, running his hand down the curve of her body and resting it on her bottom. "Yes, Ser Knight," her voice wavered as he kissed and nibbled under her ear. "We'll make sure to do…"

Her eyes fluttered as her knees quivered. "…that. Mmmmm," she groaned wanting to throw him on the ground right there and then.

"Right," the Templar scoffed. "We'll be on our way then." He grunted at them as he turned the horses back down the path.

Zevran's tongue wound designs along her jaw as he kissed his way up, finding her lips and kissing them. Her hand grazed his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair, grasping the nape of his neck. He groaned softly into her mouth as she caressed his pointed ear with her thumb. He bent his knees picking her up and her legs wrapped around him. She could feel the growing lump of his arousal as he pressed her back against a tree.

"Zev," she moaned in his ear. Trying to force herself to pull away, her hands drifted to his shoulders. "Zevran," she said trying to catch her breath. He reluctantly raised his head and met her eyes.

"I think they're gone." She cleared her throat.

He let out a frustrated sigh and set her down. Stepping back, he adjusted himself and after a minute, he successfully shook off his wanton desire.

"Little bit, you may come out," he said wearily.

A sparrow landed at their feet, fluttering on the ground. They stared at it briefly before it began morphing back into human form.

"Nifty," Mira said in awe.

"I can only do two so far," the child said brushing herself off.

Mira knelt down to eye level with her. She was caked in mud, her knees and elbows scraped and her hands were raw. "Where are your parents?" she asked, brushing twigs and grass out of her hair.

"Gone," she said in a hollow voice and looked at the ground.

"Gone?" Mira repeated. 

"The Templars came, and they killed them," the girl stated, her voice still empty.

"That's awful!" Mira said, disgusted at the thought.

"There slaughtering families now, will wonders never cease?" Zevran said sardonically and rolled his eyes.

Mira sat back on her heels. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Dara, Darastrix," she said flatly but politely.

"We should get going, no?" Zevran suggested, as the daylight was wearing thin. "Where are you headed, Dara Darastrix?" He smiled looking down at the mini mage.

She straightened up her posture looking back and forth between them expressionless, assessing the two elves before speaking. "Jader." Before either one of them could answer she continued. "I'll come with you," she stated bluntly. They both had opened their mouths to speak when she interrupted again. "I can do this." Dara said, the slightest tone of hope in her voice. She took a step back as her body melted into itself, reshaping its form.

Mira and Zevran exchanged a positive look, agreeing in an unsaid conversation. She knelt down and scooped a brown rat into the palm of her hand. "Well, this will work," she said, admiring the tiny creature before she stowed her safely in her saddlebag.

Mira's nose picked up the scent of horses carried downwind as they approached Gherlen's Pass. She put her hand up in the air interrupting a particularly intriguing conversation about the politics of underground nug racing.

Zevran pulled gently on the reigns, quietly halting the mount. Ahead of them, they could hear the faint sounds of metal clanking and the soft mummer of voices.

Mira turned her mouth up into a sly grin. "Templars," she whispered as she unbuckled a strap on her armor, ruffled her hair and pinched her cheeks to make them flush.

The Templar's conversation muted as they approached. Zevran arched his back and sat proudly in the saddle, a smug look on his face. More than a few heads turned as she pretended to look abashed while readjusting her armor, her hands lingering over her breasts.

A short Templar at the edge of the crossing saluted her, "Commander," and promptly elbowed the taller man next to him, who fell into suit.

"Gentlemen." She lowered her eyes flirtatiously and nodded as they turned down the path towards Jader.

"You were hoping to kill them all, yes?" Zevran said as he chuckled darkly.

"A little." She replied with a smirk "I just love messing with Templars, it's a hobby," she said playfully and shrugged.

It was gloaming when they set up camp a few miles off the main road. Zevran tied up the horse and began to unpack their supplies. Mira opened her satchel to find a sleeping rat.

"Darastrix?" she said accidentally startling her.

Dara's eyes shot open at the sight of a gigantic head towering over her. In her shock, she lost her concentration. The rat shape dissolved, growing and expanding as it tried to reform. There was a loud rip as the satchel tore open, sending most of its contents tumbling to the ground. Most that is, save for Dara who was hanging by her waist. The rim of the satchel wrapped around her, still attached to the horse. She struggled, flailing her arms wildly trying to free herself. Finally, the strap broke dropping her on her bottom. Mira covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

"Problems?" Zevran chimed from behind them as Mira helped her to her feet.

"Sorry," she said trying not to look embarrassed while staring at the ground.

"It's fine, I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she said still suppressing a laugh.

"You're a Grey Warden aren't you?" Dara asked abruptly as they begun to clean up the mess.

"Yes, I am," Mira answered in a formal tone.

"Not just any Grey Warden," Zevran said from across the small campsite. "The Hero of Ferelden, herself," he teased, smirking at her.

"I know," Dara replied blandly. "I was following you."

"Following us?" Mira's voice picked up.

"Mmmhmm," she nodded. "Since those people left you."

Zevran's attention was immediately upon her. "Oh?" he said nonchalantly as not to frighten her.

"I thought I knew one of them," Dara sighed. "But it wasn't Pia," she said, a melancholy tone in her voice.

"Let me guess," Zevran started. "Pia has a scar on her left," he hesitated, "on the left side of her chest."

Dara nodded. "Did you see anything else?" he asked her curiously.

She stood quiet for a moment, glancing between the two. "Do you mean before or after they tried to kill you and leave you for dead?" she answered him honestly cocking her head to the side.

"Why not just tell us everything," Mira suggested with a smile and a quirk of her brow.

They continued to set up camp as Dara continued her story. After several days of little to no sleep and surviving off what little food she could steal in a sparrow's mouth, she was exhausted. Enticed by the smell of the stew in the air, she flew in closer. From a treetop, she recognized what she thought was Pia. Excited to see a familiar face, she landed on the top of the caravan. She was chirping in an attempt to get the girl's attention when an older woman approached. The woman handed her a vial, explaining that plans had changed.

"That's when I knew she wasn't Pia," Dara explained sitting by the fire.

Zevran turned from setting up the tent. "And how do you know she wasn't this Pia?" he asked skeptically.

"Pia, wouldn't try to kill you," Dara frowned at him and crossed her arms. "Now Phoebe on the other hand, she would definitely try to kill you."

Both Zevran and Mira's eyes shot wide open.

"Twins!Marvelous!" he exclaimed. "This explains a lot. No?"

"You know Phoebe?" Mira asked anxiously.

"Not as well as _he_ knows her." Dara said, sending Zevran an accusatory glare. He looked away hiding the scowl on his face. Mira's face fell into an embittered frown as she shook off a pang of jealously. She looked at him blankly.

"Oh? How well do you _think _I know her?" he asked cautiously.

"Well enough to kiss her on the-"

Mira cut her off, "I don't need to hear of Zevran's exploits from an eight year old." She fussed with the pot of stew on the fire, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Nothing happened, I assure you," he scoffed, shrugging off the foggy memory.

"If it makes you feel better," Dara said turning to Mira, "he thought she was you."

She looked up from the pot as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, still looking away.

Dara continued to explain that they had become frustrated. After dosing Zevran several times, he was still conscious and quite lucid. Phoebe had complained that the effort it was taking to subdue him had worn their supplies thin. She suggested stabbing him but was strongly advised against it due to the chance of his blood contaminating the ritual. Aside from that, Iona had doubted that Phoebe would be victor in that battle. "A broken heart is an easy way to keep our Warden vulnerable," was all she was told when she questioned as to why they could not just leave him unconscious. It took an old fashion pan to the head to knock him out finally. After noting how weak his vital signs were, they assumed he was dead, or very close to it.

A flash of anger tore through Mira as Dara filled in the missing pieces of that evening. A lugubrious look crossed her face as she clenched her fists.

"There, Warden," Zevran snorted, muttering under his breath.

"Vulnerable to what exactly?" she asked looking at the mage seriously.

Dara hadn't over heard much, but something in regards to preparing the vessel. It was what she saw that was more disturbing. Once Zevran had been secured in the tent, they began to work on the Warden. She was in a drug-induced trance, floating paralyzed in a glyph as Lord Fent preformed a ritual, ultimately pouring a black liquid down her throat.

Mira's stomach lurched and she felt sick, tensing her face in disgust. Zevran sat quietly furrowing his brow as he tightened his jaw, hiding his fury.

Dara's eyes had grown heavy and she yawned. They decided they had asked enough questions this evening. She politely excused herself as she shrank back into a sparrow and fluttered off to a nearby branch.

Mira sat staring off into the distance lost in thought. Zevran, empathic to her feelings, reached his arms around her. "Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts," he said almost in a whisper, resting his head on her shoulder. Her face softened as she felt his warm embrace.

"I'm sorry I got you into-" she began, still frightened by the thought of what could have been. He wound himself around her in two fluid movements, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands. He wanted to say more. He wanted to reassure her fears, tell her he was not going anywhere and if she would have him, he would solidify his oath.

All he could bring himself to say was, "You are the only dance I want, my Grey Warden." Behind her affectionate gaze, he could see the fear and sadness in her viridian eyes. A warm smile spread across her lips. He couldn't help but kiss her and lay her down by the fire. A crescent moon hung overhead as they made love.


	11. Chapter 11

**Ch. 11**

**The Perils of Sparrows**

Dara had adapted rather quickly to life on the road, unpacking the saddlebags and falling easily into the routine of setting up camp. Her shape changing skills had proven useful gaining them the advantage of _a bird's eye view_ for hunting wild game. This made mealtime a more satisfying event, rather than the disappointment of leftover rations. As the two elves sat and bantered over directions and plans, Dara curled up in a far off corner by the fire, tucking her knees into her chest and pulling out a small, leather bound book. As the night wore thin and a half moon hung in the sky, one of the pair would try to rouse her, but it always ended the same way. Dara insist upon sleeping in a tree, something Zevran found to be extremely intriguing. She slept in sparrow form, however her small frame and inexperience, would often lead to her transforming back while she slept. She was no stranger to the effects of gravity.

It was on one particular occasion, that Zevran had woken up earlier than usual. He found himself alone, idly poking at the smoldering coals and throwing whatever leftover food they had from the night before onto the hot stone. Emerging from their tent, groggy, still half-asleep and mumbling something about darkspawn cupcakes, Mira wandered over to the fire.

"Nightmares?" he inquired.

"Mmmmm," she growled wearily, feeling the cold ground beneath her feet.

"I gathered as much. That or you were doing a piss poor job of trying to beat me to death." He looked up at her with a warm, teasing grin. She gave him a lazy glare.

"Have you seen Darastrix?" she yawned, still wiping her sleep-laden eyes.

"Come to think of it, no," he said pondering her whereabouts. "She must still be asleep."

Zevran walked to the center of the small clearing, looking around at the trees. "Dara?" he said quietly, cocking his head to the side and listening. He cleared his throat, one hand cupped around the corner of his mouth, and he yelled in a short sharp tone. "Darastrix!"

There was a rustling and a short yelp as she fell to the ground.

"Ah, look...there she is." He pointed to her and walked over to help her up.

A sharp stinging spread across her knees and hands and her bottom hurt. "Oww," she said groaning while rubbing her backside and brushing the dirt off her knees and elbows. Zevran dusted off fragments of branches from her shoulders and hair.

Dara twisted her face in a pout. "I could turn you into a many number of things right now," she said in a haughty tone.

"I would still make a damn good looking _number of things_, would I not?" he laughed.

"I 'd like to see that." Mira grinned at Dara, who looked away shyly, smiling at the ground.

She had discussed with Zevran the possibility of Dara sharing their tent.

"You do realize that this will make our evenings a bit more...complicated," he had replied.

"Fine then you can sleep outside, and Dara and I will share the tent," she contested.

After some protesting with various excuses, he reluctantly gave in. Dara still hesitated to take them up on the offer, however. She remained to sleep outside, moving closer and closer each evening until eventually she perched herself on top of the tent.

Zevran and Dara had discovered a game that they had been playing to pass the time at camp. Dara conjured up small twisted creatures, controlling them like puppets. They scurried about in all directions as Zevran threw knives at them. It resembled a twisted hunting game of sorts. Every time he hit one they would make a low gurgling noise before popping, leaving a tiny slimy residue behind. She shouted with glee as one after the other was destroyed, picking up the knives and returning them to him, always with a 'Do it again!' sense of excitement.

Mira would sit and watch them play for hours. It was their game, but she didn't mind. She liked watching him with her. There was a certain childlike gleam in his eyes whenever they played together. He had tried his best to mentor her in the use of throwing knives. Crouched behind her, his head just above her right shoulder, he would form his hand over hers to show her the proper technique to holding, aiming and throwing. She wasn't very good at it and preferred he throw them instead, but just the same she would try and try again.

"See, it's all in the wrist," he said, demonstrating with his hands. Dara's eyes took on a dreamy look whenever he did this. Mira had a sense the little girl had a crush on him, which she found cute. She also had the feeling that he knew this as well. Having never experienced the innocent adoration of a child, he found his time with her brought out his own childlike chicanery, long buried from a stolen youth. For brief moments, he truly looked carefree and happy.

Dara was a bit more reserved around Mira. They were not sure what to make of each other. Mira helped her untangle her hair, combing out the rats nests, much to the chagrin of a squirmy, uncooperative Dara. However, once it was over the little girl was impressed with the results. Smiling and thanking her, promptly running off to show Zevran how pretty she looked. Always happy to flatter, he told her she looked lovely, and soon enough suitors would be falling over each other to please her.

She scrunched up her nose, with a '_Boys are icky, except for you_' look on her face. She ran back to Mira, grinning sheepishly.

"What did he say?" she said looking up from sharpening her blades as the mini-mage approached.

"What is a suitor, and why will they fall down to please me?" she said, a look of confusion on her face.

Mira's eyes widened, holding back laughter. Dara looked abashed. "Umm, well...you'll understand when you get older," she said sympathetically.

Dara pouted slightly, "How old? Old like you?"

The question was innocent but sparked a sharp laugh from an approaching Zevran. "Worse things could happen than growing as old as my dear Warden here."

Mira stuck her tongue out at him.

Cold rain and wind pounded against the ground and the trees held no shelter. On an almost leafless branch she stubbornly shivered, her tiny feathers failed as any kind of a barrier as the storm roared around her.

Mira and Zevran awoke to thunder so loud it shook the ground. Moments later, there was a scratching at their tent flap. Mira quickly slipped into one of Zevran's shifts.

He stopped her from opening the flap, putting a finger to his lips.

"Who is it?" Zevran sang in a mock feminine tone.

"It's me..." Dara said, her voice quaking as she shivered, freezing in the rain.

"Let her in!" Mira whispered harshly.

She was still holding her back with a hand on her leg. "Me who?" he sang.

"P-please, can I come in?" Her voice escalated as she shook.

"I thought you preferred the outdoors-" Just as he finished the last word there was a huge crash of thunder followed by lightening that illuminated the whole tent.

"P-please, I, I'm scared!" Dara shrieked.

In one fluid movement he whipped open the flap and grabbed her inside.

"Maker, you're freezing, and soaking wet!" Mira grabbed a bedroll in an attempt to dry the child off.

"I was only teasing, mi _pájaro_, "he said continuing to attempt to dry her as Mira rummaged through her pack for her shift.

"Hold this up." She unwrapped Dara and handed Zevran the damp bedroll. "There, now turn your head."

"Eyes shut, I promise." He turned his head away.

"Okay, you can look now, "Mira said, setting aside Dara's soaked clothes. She was still shivering, her hair wet and tangled. Mira's shift hung off her shoulder and fell to well below her knees.

"Are you alright kiddo, your still freezing?" Mira asked rubbing her arms trying to warm her.

Dara nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Another crash and a bright flash rattled the tent. Dara jumped into her lap, knocking her into Zevran. Mira chuckled and hugged her tightly.

"It's okay," she said in an attempt to sooth her anxiety.

Zevran pushed the damp bedroll off to the side, smoothing out the dry one lengthwise and patted the space between them. "Here, try to get some rest." Another crash of thunder shook the tent. "Providing the elements stay outside, yes?" he said with a reassuring smile.

Tentatively, she lay down between them, curled up and promptly fell asleep. This was to become a nightly event.

They arrived in Jader late afternoon the next day. People still lingered in the markets and taverns as they followed Zevran through the town. The smell of old fish was overwhelming as it wafted off the docks. He led them to a lesser-known house of ill repute where he had the contacts he needed. The building was unassuming except for two signs. The Hung, Drawn and Quartered Tavern sat at ground level while The All-the-Way Inn operated on the second floor.

Had they been anywhere else, people surely would have taken offense to their dreggy appearance. Dara was covered in mud and scrapes. Mira's shift hung sloppily underneath her tattered smock. Mira wriggled uncomfortably without her shift, causing her to stand in awkward positions, twitching now and again as her armor chaffed her skin. Despite his tatterdemalion appearance, Zevran still managed to look suave as he stood at the bar. There was barely a word spoken between him and the barmaid before she handed him a key.

The room was a good size and sat in the corner of the building. The two windows in front had a view of the ship-filled docks. Two more sat to the left on either side of a fireplace, overlooking the main street. A double bed was pushed into the far right corner, in front of it was a stone basin surrounded by privacy curtains and a small round table with four chairs, sat in the middle.

Zevran set his bags down on the bed; he looked tense as his eyes scanned the room.

"I will send for some water. Do not leave the room," Zevran said adamantly.

Mira cocked her head to the side, her eyes contesting his tone. He relaxed his stance and smiled warmly at her. "I have some eyes and ears to contact. It is best if I go alone."

She nodded, too exhausted to argue.

Zevran slipped out the door, into the hallway, and found his way down to the tavern. Staying hidden behind shadows, he purposefully caught the eye of a woman carrying an armload of ale. He smiled at her as she served her patrons, one of whom slapped her across the bottom. She sighed heavily and walked away from their catcalls and jeers. 

Zevran grabbed her by the arm gently as she passed him. "Pardon me, my dear, might I request a few buckets of water? I am in great need of a bath, you see, and I find it quite unseemly to be such a mess amidst beautiful women such as yourself," he said in his trademark seductive tone, and he folded a silver into her hand. Her lips curved up into a coy smile. He shrewdly brushed the hair away from his face. Acknowledgement flashed through her eyes, as she recognized the markings carving a sinuous path along his cheekbone.

"If you would be so kind as to inform me of where I might find a certain Mistress Evangelina, I would be much obliged," he said with a sagacious grin. 

"My Mistress is with company at the moment," she said in a demure tone. "I shall notify her that you wish to parley." She paused briefly, studying the handsome elf before subtly prodding him for a name. "Whom may I say is calling?"

His eyes never left hers, which made her slightly uneasy. "Just tell her an old acquaintance wishes to collect on a certain favor," he said smoothly.

The serving girl nodded, "Is there anything else I can provide?" she said suggestively swaying her hips from side to side and adjusting her bodice 

He chuckled softly, assessing her attributes. "Not just yet." With an affable grin he continued. "I am a man of discretion, knock once and leave the buckets outside, second room on the right." He noticed a slight hint of disappointment on her face. "I shall seek you out later, yes?" he said as he disappeared into the crowd and out the door. 

"I shall look forward to it," she said, quite enamored by his charm, and began to fulfill his request. 

Mira ushered Dara under the bed as they heard a single knock. She unsheathed her weapons as she cautiously opened the door. Two large buckets of water sat in the hallway. After quickly looking around the hallway, she carried them in. 

"There you go, kiddo," she said, setting the buckets down and pulling the curtain shut. 

"Where do you think Zevran went?" Dara asked, slipping behind the privacy curtains. 

"Most likely looking for Isabella," she answered, smiling to herself. 

"Who's Isabella? I thought you were his wife?" Darastrix asked rather candidly. 

"Ha!" Mira said in a knee jerk reaction. "Me? No...no...Not married." Her cheeks flushed as her voice trailed off. "Isabella is," she hesitated before continuing, "an old friend." She sat on the bed pulling off her armor.

"You're not married?" Dara continued. "You look at each other like married people do." 

Mira scoffed, "And how is that?" 

"Like," she paused, humming in thought. "like you're gonna be sick." 

Mira laughed loudly, "Is _that_ what thatlooks like?" 

"Umm humm, " Dara answered. Mira was still chuckling at her comment when she started again. 

"Do you think he will ever ask you?" She inquired further.

The line of questioning was beginning to wear thin on Mira's nerves.

"It's complicated," she said dryly, hoping to dissuade her from persisting. 

"Would you say yes?" she persisted.

Mira opened her mouth to answer before she stopped and laughed, mostly at herself.

"I'm not really having a conversation about my love life with an eight year old, am I?"

**A/N- mi pájaro- my bird. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Ch. 12**

**Welcome to Jader. Now Get Out.**

Zevran made his way to the open-air market, blending in with the diminishing crowd as they scurried about collecting last minute articles before hurrying home. After acquiring a few rations of mutton, cheese and a day old baguette, he searched the winding stalls for one final item. He approached an older woman, sitting and sewing, surrounded by various hanging apparel. The woman didn't acknowledge him as he stood in front of her. He felt completely out of his element idly staring at the garments on display.

"Pardon me, do you have anything for a child, say about the age of eight," he finally inquired. 

The woman put her work aside and stood, reaching and mingling with the displayed clothing. "Male or female?" she said patiently. 

"Female," he replied confidant of that one fact alone. 

Rummaging through and pulling an array of items, she paused, looking him over before placing a few dresses in front of him. He looked at them curiously before selecting a dark green smock and a beige shift.

"Yours?" the woman asked while turning around sorting through a stack of pre-wrapped packages. 

"My what?" he answered her daftly.

"Your daughter?" she said, with a dubious look on her face. 

"Mine?" His eyes pulsed momentarily as he registered her meaning. "No, no, no," he shook his head. "My niece," he added as he handed her a sovereign.

"Ahh," the woman smiled. "That would explain it," she chuckled under her breath. 

"Explain what?" 

"The look of bewilderment on an _assassin's_ face," she said, dauntlessly ignoring the low warning tone in his voice. 

"You must be mistaken my dear lady," he answered politely. Ignoring the woman, he had turned to walk away when she spoke again. 

"Do not be offended." A warm grin passed over her lips. "You are Zevran, are you not?"

Circumspectly, he took a peripheral view of his surroundings. A chill ran down his spine and a dangerous look washed over him as he evaluated the woman. She was short and heavyset with a motherly appearance. Her eyes were warm and years of laugh lines were etched into her round face.

The woman stood with her arms folded under her large breasts, smiling softly at him. "Word travels fast around here," she said with a chuckle.

"So it would seem," he said apathetically.

"I have a proposal for you," she said, turning to sit back down and picking up her work once again. 

"Oh? This should be interesting," he said flatly.

She looked up at him cautiously before continuing, "Come back tomorrow and speak with my husband, if you are of a mind." She dropped her eyes back to her sewing, disregarding him completely.

Cocking an eyebrow at her briefly, he turned and left, vanishing into the rows of merchants.

Mira had wrapped Dara in a sheet and tied it in a makeshift tunic when the door opened. She whipped her head around to find Zevran quietly closing it behind him, his arms filled with packages. 

"Zevran!" Dara perked up, smiling at him. 

"You look upset," Mira said, grabbing a bundle from him and placing it on the table. 

"Me? No. Not at all," he said with a comely smile. 

Mira squinted her eyes at him knowingly. The agitated lines on his face told her he was burdened and he would be unwilling to discuss it. 

"I take it you received water?" he said, changing the subject. 

"It was cold," Dara pouted. 

"It works the same, no?" he said satirically as he unfolded the larger of the two packages. "Hungry?" He displayed the dried meat, cheese, fruit and the baguette. 

"Starving!" Mira replied while exhaling heavily in relief.

Dara's eyes grew huge, tripping over the sheet as she reached for the table.

"Thank you," she mumbled shoving food into her mouth.

"Careful, _piccolo_, or your next shape change will be a stuffed turkey," he chuckled at her full cheeks. 

The room was quiet as they rapidly stuffed themselves. Relaxing back in their chairs with full bellies,

Zevran retrieved the second package off the bed and handed it to Dara. "I picked this up on my way." He produced the small shift and smock.

Her eyes lit up. "For me?" She looked at him in awe. Suddenly recoiling back into the sheet and shrinking back into a sparrow. The pair of elves snickered watching Dara's reaction. The small lump struggled and twisted as she became lost in the mound of fabric. Minutes later she reappeared, "Sorry, force of habit," she said blushing.

"Try it on, much more fashionable then you current attire, no?" he said still chuckling as she struggled to right herself in the sheet. 

Mira crossed behind her and pulled open the privacy curtain around the tub. "Go ahead, I promise Zev won't look," she joked. 

Dara grabbed the dress and shuffled behind the curtain, emerging moments later, smoothing out the green smock. She twisted around trying to get a good look at herself from all angles. 

"You look pretty." Mira smiled at the tiny mage.

"Since when did you become such an expert in fashion, Zevran?" she teased him. 

He smiled in smug satisfaction and sighed. "It is true, I am a man of many talents."

Dara ran across the floor and threw her arms around him. Zevran's eyes widened at her unexpected embrace.

Eyes as wide as gold coins, she looked up at him. "Thank you, thank you!" she said still hugging him. 

"You are welcome," he said in a benevolent tone, patting the girl on the head. They stood from the table and repackaged the leftover food.

Zevran turned to face Mira. "As for you, my dear, perhaps in the morning we can find you something more appropriate for travel." He traced a finger playfully down her chest. "After all, traipsing through town dressed in bloody armor does tend to attract the_ wrong_ kind of attention."

Mira scoffed. "We could dress like Chantry sisters and still draw the _wrong _kind of attention." 

He chuckled. "It's true, I'm afraid. But worth a try, no?" His brow twitched upwards as his lips curved into a half-cocked smile. 

Dara changed quietly back into the sheet while the two began discussing plans for travel, folding her new clothes neatly in a pile on the table, and crawling quietly under the covers of the bed. Curling up in the corner and producing the small leather bound book, she began to read.

Zevran stared out the window at the docks below. His face was tense and there was a distance in his eyes.

"It seems as if our visit here will take a bit longer than imagined," he said quietly as she approached him from behind.

"What's wrong?" she said sounding concerned. 

"It seems I have some _business_ to attend to." He looked withdrawn. 

"Tell me." She narrowed her eyes at him. Knowing he was quite capable of handling himself, she still felt protective.

His gaze softened as he looked at her. "It is nothing." He grazed her face with his hand, gently kissing her on the lips. She still didn't believe him.

There came a knock on the door, interrupting an already strained conversation. Exchanging a quick glance, Zevran turned from the window and went to the door. He cracked it open slowly before recognizing the serving girl.

"Mistress Evangelina wishes to see you. I am to accompany you to her quarters," she said in a professional tone.

He told her to wait in the hall for a moment and shut the door. Mira's stomach lurched forward noticing his demeanor change. She had almost forgotten that side of him, the dangerously calculating assassin, the soft smooth tones of his voice replaced by that of a ruthless murderer. An ice-cold stare on his expressionless face sent shivers down her spine. It made him look older somehow, not at all the same man that stood there seconds ago. All too well, she remembered that look. 

Saying nothing, he quietly sheathed his weapons and slipped out the door. The serving girl led him down through the tavern to an underground apartment. The warm candle lit room was surprisingly pleasing compared to its dank surroundings. Woven rugs and furs lined the floor. Lavish couches sat in all corners surrounding a central fireplace. A desk and two large chairs sat in the far end of the room, upon which leaned a Dwarven woman.

Black angled hair framed her chiseled jaw line. She wore a tight black leather tunic. The low cut neckline exposed a mass of hair on her muscular chest, and matching knee high boots and silk gloves that ran the length of her arms covered her large hands.

Zevran had known Mistress Evangelina since he was a teen. Of course, back then, she went by a different name, Master Damek. She was drawn to him by the tenacious _joie de vivre_ in his eyes. He had had a soft spot for the young elf. How a Dwarf came to be a Crow Master was still unclear, even to Zevran. Rumor had it that it was something to do with his affinity for fashion and his ostentatious personality, making him a favorite among the noble women. Most Crow masters regarded him as an ally viewing him as an enigma rather than competition. He had proved himself numerous times in battles and was respected among the older Masters. The younger Masters saw him as an easy target, but quickly learned otherwise. Humility outweighed casualties when they returned in defeat. Mistress Evangelina often used the fact that the younger Masters didn't take him seriously as a point of vantage, helping much to his continuing success.

Mistress Evangelina stood, placing her hands on her hips and staring him down. She sauntered across the room towards him with a petulant look on her face.

"Zevran," she said in a low husky voice. She pulled him into a vice grip of a hug, before pushing him away and slapping him. "And that's for staying away for so long!" Her baritone voice twisted in an effeminate hitch.

Zevran smirked, rubbing his sore cheek. "Well, there wasn't much time for social calls. What with aiding in stopping a civil war, assassinating traitors, then there was that pesky Blight and a little matter of defeating an Archdemon." He smirked at her, watching her tap her foot unsympathetically. "How very selfish of me," he chided, rolling his eyes.

Mistress Evangelina took him by the hand, abruptly dismissing the barmaid. She led him to a large fur covered chair, sat him down and handed him a snifter of brandy. After pouring a second glass, she hoisted herself up to sit on the desk.

"Am I to assume that the Elven woman and human child you arrived with are not targets?" she said in an attempt to make small talk.

He took a sip of brandy. "Your assumption would be correct," he said in a flat, stern tone.

She looked disappointed and grunted at him.

"The child is an orphan," he said cautiously. "The woman is a Grey Warden."

Her face piqued in amusement. "So _she _is the one you have traipsing across the country _for_." A hint of spite rose in her deep voice.

"_With_," Zevran corrected her.

Her lips curved into an insightful smirk. "_With_," she repeated in a lofty tone. "I didn't want to believe the rumors that _my_ Zevran had gone soft," she continued.

"Why does every one keep saying that?" He lowered his brow and frowned.

She chuckled under her breath.

His gaze hardened. "I am here, am I not?" he glowered at her.

"Indeed," she purred. The desk creaked as she rolled her hips to lean sideways, tucking her legs behind her and inhaling deeply as she took in the sight of the pulchritudinous elf. Zevran swirled the brandy around in his glass with a grimace.

"Word has gotten around about your arrival," she said with pause. "I can only assume you have been contacted?" Her hand strolled absently to caress her breastbone diverting her eyes to some far away speck in the room. She chose not to notice the repugnant look on his face.

Narrowing his eyes, he sneered. "You could say that." He took a sip of the brandy. "I take it you have a hand in this, no?" he said, an excogitable look on his face.

Her stature never flinched as she cocked her head to the side. "Me?" she said naively. "Ha!" the guttural tone of her former self laughed. "As if any Master would take a _Mistress_ seriously," she snorted, turning her head to the side and examining her fingernails. "I'm not exactly high on the list of respected Crow Masters." She sucked her cheeks in, posing in a haughty fashion. "Now am I?" she continued while rolling her fingers on the desk.

"I learned very early on not to underestimate your capabilities," he said with a chuckle.

"A wise lesson," she cooed. "This is why I always liked you, Zevran. Handsome and smart." She looked him over salaciously. "Such a fine _package_."

Zevran shifted in his seat, a cocky grin washed across his face. "Enough talk of my _package_,_" _he said in a suggestive tone.

Mistress Evangelina tossed her head back in a laugh. "Such a pity," she said. Lifting herself up, she slid off the desk to retrieve a small pouch. "_This _might help should you need any supplies during your stay." She yawned gently patting her mouth with her hand. "Alas, I am tired and wish to continue this conversation at a later date."

Zevran rose from his seat and bowed graciously before returning to his room.

Zevran entered the dimly lit room to find Dara sleeping soundly in the bed. The moonlight cast a warm glow over Mira as she turned toward him. All the tension from the evening drained from his face as he saw her.

"How was your meeting?" she asked tentatively. He glided across the room, taking her face in his hands and kissed her fervently on the lips. A quiet gasp escaped her as she was thrown off guard by his sudden affection. Adoration filled his eyes as he pulled back to look at her again.

"It went well then?" she said, quickly catching her breath.

"I am not in the mood to discuss _business_ at the moment," he said, brushing off the conversation.

Mira frowned at him, to which he replied with a grin and a wicked gleam in his eyes. He leapt up into the windowsill, twisting his body and pulling himself up to the roof.

"What are you doing?" She poked her head out and looked up as he offered her a hand.

"Come," he said as he pulled her up effortlessly.

The tilt of the roof plateaued at the top allowing them to see miles of rooftops and the endless black abyss of the ocean in front of them. There was a soft breeze in the cool night air and the sound of the water lapping at the creaking ships docked at the port below. 

"The town looks so peaceful from here," she said, taking a seat beside him. 

"I found solidarity on the rooftops as a boy. It was a place to get away, think, to dream, to plot." 

She looked at him playfully. "So which is it tonight Zev? Dreaming or plotting?"

He smiled with a devilish grin. "A little of both."

"It seems as if we are never alone now, not that I mind our new magelette," he added. 

"That was very kind of you, what you did for Dara." Mira watched him as he looked up at the sky pretending to ignore her statement. 

"Well, we can't have her running around in muddy rags, escorted by two elves. People might get the wrong idea." He did a good job of hiding that he did in fact, like the little mage.

She smiled, seeing through his nonchalant facade. "Why did you have us stay in the room earlier?" 

His expression hardened again. "A house of Ill repute is no place for a child," he said, grasping his own irony. 

"You grew up in one." 

"Exactly," he said, tensing his jaw at the memory. 

"Dara is a lot smarter then she lets on, you know," she said, coming to the defense of her new little friend. 

"Nevertheless, the patrons of such an establishment are not. If I remember correctly, we are trying _not _to main the locals, if it can be avoided," he said darkly.

"Point taken," she replied.

A breeze passed over them, lightly blowing her hair back from her face. 

"You know," he said twisting his body around to lean across her, "you look beautiful in the moonlight."  
He sat back on his left arm, "Come to think of it, we both look fantastic in the moonlight." 

She chuckled at him, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him back. "You're such a tease."

"Yes, it's true, such a crime." He raised his eyebrows and leaned in, closing the distance between them. "Punish me?" he said optimistically. 

He grabbed her, rolling her over on top of him. Grabbing his hands from her waist, she held his wrists together. "I think something can be arranged," she said in a soft purr.

Her viridian eyes fixated on his as he brushed the tips of his fingers against her top lip and then the bottom, taking his middle finger into her mouth and slowly swirling her tongue around. His eyes flickered as she felt his chest expand in a deep breath. She lingered suckling on his finger, watching the look of anticipated enjoyment on his face and thinking of what she could do next.

Leaning back on her heels and straddling him, she moved his hands to his chest. "These are to remain here," she said firmly.

"Si, amora," he said, suppressing a wide grin.

Slowly, while rocking her hips against his pelvis, she removed her shift tossing it to the side.

"Mmmm." He let out a guttural groan as her hair swept down across her bare breasts.

Hands still in place, he couldn't help but buck slightly underneath her as she ran her hands over the curvature of her body, lingering on her breasts and cupping them together.

After removing all of his armor, she straddled him again. He moaned louder as he felt her warm soft folds against his pelvis. She took his hands again, using his own small clothes to bind his wrists. Bending her torso forward, her breasts grazed across his chest and over his face as she placed his arms above his head. She slowly sat back until she hovered over his face.

He closed his eyes as she kissed his lower lip, her tongue probing the crease for entry. Zevran opened his mouth, lifting his head to deepen the kiss. She slid her body down his, causing another groan to escape him while winding her tongue down his toned chest and abdomen. Kneeling between his legs, she gently massaged him with one hand and grasped the base of his shaft with the other. Her tongue roamed over the sides of his length leaving a trail of cold wetness, her fingers sliding up and down as her tongue flicked over his tip forcing a loud groan to escape his throat. He arched his back, willing himself deeper into her mouth. She obliged, twisting and rolling her tongue around him as his tip grazed the back of her throat. Her lips tightened around the base of his member as the muscles in her throat contracted and spasmed, sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Zevran twisted out of his makeshift restraints and in one swift movement, he pulled her up and rolled over on top of her, holding her hands above her head, his blond hair brushing against her face as he held her there.

"Not fair!" she pouted with a teasing smirk.

"I never said I played fair," he retorted, grinning deviously.

He buried his head into her neck, licking and nibbling the tips of her ears. With one hand holding the back of her head, the other glided down the length of her body. Finding her wetness, he circled her nub with the tip of his finger. He felt her body shudder as she gasped, spreading her knees apart to invite him closer. Still holding her head, he moved his other hand to her lower back prompting her to lift her hips. The tip of his length lingered against her opening causing her to moan lustfully.

"Zevran, I want you," she whispered, her legs trembling with desire.

He lifted his head up as warm soft moisture enclosed around him. He marveled, watching her mouth open and her eyes flutter as he entered her. Wrapping her legs tightly around him, he moaned pulling out before pushing into her further. She tilted her hips rocking in rhythm with his thrusts. He watched as her green eyes shut tight in pleasure. Her inner muscles began to tighten around him. Burying his head into her neck, a groan vibrated in her ear. Pulling her hips in closer, he sat back on his knees and lifted her legs over his shoulders.

The feeling of him moving inside her was intense. He could feel her insides quivering and he knew she was close. Her full breasts bounced as her chest heaved and her body shook as she cried out in ecstasy, warm fluid washing over him. He penetrated deeper. Dropping her legs he covered her body with his, feeling her naked skin pressed against him. His movements slowed to deep deliberate thrusts and he gathered her into his arms. She could feel him grow rigid inside her as his lips crashed against hers feverishly kissing her.

"Mi amora," he growled into her mouth as he filled her with his orgasm.

Still inside her, they lay together wrapped in each other's arms, breathing heavily, enraptured in each other's kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ch. 13 **

**Dueling templars and Other Fun Shiny Things**

He wasn't there when she awoke the next morning. Darastrix sat in a chair by the window writing in her leather bound book. The morning sun crept through the window casting a warm glow across the room. Mira glanced around for any sign of what Zevran might be doing. His armor and weapons were absent, and several empty vials sat on the round table.

_He must have been up early, _she thought, remembering him sitting quietly by the fire mixing herbs and poisons. She wondered if he had even slept at all or if he had just slipped away after she fell asleep. The wood floor was a cold shock to her feet as she forced herself to rouse.

Dara looked up from her writing, and pulled a roll of sweet bread out of a covered basket sitting next to her on the windowsill.

"Here," she said through muffled chewing. "Zevran brought them earlier this morning."

"When did he leave?" Mira asked while picking apart the crust.

"I dunno. I woke up when he was leaving. He came back when the sun came up and brought these," she said smiling and devouring the sweet bread. "He also left this." She produced a stack of coins secured in a folded bit of cloth and a sealed missive.

Cracking open the seal, Mira began to read the scribbled handwriting.

_W-(unreadable scribble) Mira,_

_(Large brown stain) at the Four-Fingered Gauntlet. (more illegible handwriting) Flower Pot (smeared words) Sodding Bronto Humpers! _

_- Oghren_

She sat at the table and took a bite of the sweet bread. "Mmm. These are good," she said astonished at the soft moist texture of the rolls.

Dara nodded in excited agreement, stuffing her face and smiling.

It was dawn, and the town bell rang in the distance. The streets were muddy, a rich petrichor hung in the air. Crouched on the apex of a nearby roof, Zevran sat, eating and watching the activity of the market down below. Carts of fruits and vegetables rattled slowly over the cobblestone. Merchants of every kind began to filter into their stalls and set up shop. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary, even the charred remains of the shop to his right weren't unusual. Still, something felt off.

Acting on instinct, he deftly crossed the rooftops and circled the market. Several carts of goods passed on the streets below before he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. In the alleyway behind him, an overweight, gruffish man opened a cellar door and ushered in a group of children. This process repeated several times over the next hour. Zevran tightened his face in an angry scowl thinking of the many different possibilities taking place under the back alley. He wiped the thoughts from his mind and made his way down to the market.

The heavyset merchant woman hung the day's garments from a rafter. A lofty man unloaded parcels from a cart, stacking them behind her, dropping several of them and stumbling backwards as the hooded figure of Zevran appeared behind him.

"Ciao," he said in a gritty voice.

The woman didn't flinch. She finished her hanging and slowly turned to greet him.

"I see you have considered my offer," she said and gestured towards the man behind her. "This is my husband."

He set more packages down and righted himself. Zevran politely declined as the man offered him a handshake.

Retrieving it, he cleared his throat. "I believe everything you need is contained in here," he said in a doltish tone with a heavy Orlesian accent, and he handed him a missive. They struck him as amateurs, but he was still leery.

The husband turned away briefly. "Before you go," he said in vain as he turned back around to find no sign of the surreptitious elf. He sighed and mumbled under his breath continuing his work.

Zevran arrived on the windowsill to find the room empty. He pulled up a chair and unfolded the parchment.

_Louise Gaston is a metalsmith who deals in fine metals and precious stones. He recently acquired the title of Guild Master due to the accidental death of the previous Master, Lorenzo Bianchi. Master Bianchi was a good man. He increased exports and kept trade civil amongst merchants. His death was a loss for us all. _

_Master Gaston is a tyrant, he demands we pay him for protection. Refusal has led to the destruction of goods and even death. Beyond that, he forces the children to work from the first bell to the last. Many have died or have fallen ill due to decrepit conditions. _

_We cannot offer much in payment but a few of us have left an incentive in a locked chest behind The Hung, Drawn and Quartered Tavern. Anything you may find in Master Gaston's shop should be an ample reward. _

Zevran considered the letter before tossing it in the fire and watching it burn to ash.

Bored. Very, very bored. It had been a long time since Mira had nothing to do. As much as it was a well-deserved break, it was still uncomfortable. Leaving Dara alone in the room, she strolled down to the tavern, nicking a cowl on the way out. Her long black hair pulled into a tight bun, short wisps of hair framed her face. The harsh chill of the wind whipped at her skin causing the tip of her nose and her cheeks to flush. Mira pulled the cowl around her tighter as she walked along the aisles of merchant shops.

For a brief moment, she was distracted by a figure in the shadows darting down an alleyway. Curious, she ducked into the mingling crowd, emerging once again on the main street. Directly in front of her sat the local Chantry. It was then that she recognized Dara, standing on the stairs, looking up bravely at the two templars guarding the door before she walked passed them and into the building.

_What in the name of the Maker does she think she's doing? _Mira thought as she hurried towards the little mage.

Mira reached the double doors of the Chantry just as they closed.

Dara made her way to the back of the building where a gaunt old woman stood pouring over a book held in one arm.

"Mother Gerina?" she said in a whisper. The woman looked down at her, assessing the small voice.

"Yes?" she said with a wizened voice.

Dara reached into a pocket of her mossy green smock, producing a worn, folded letter and handed it to the woman. Adjusting the glasses on her nose, she focused on the shabby missive, and her eyes darted back and forth as she read.

_Gerina, _

_If you are reading this letter, then I fear the worst has happened. We knew it was always a matter of time before they caught up with us. I can never thank you enough for what you did for us in Denerim those many years ago. I will be forever in your debt. However, I have one more favor to ask of you, dear sister. Before you stands my daughter, Darastrix, your niece. The templars will kill her and the Circle will only keep her a prisoner for a crime of nature. I implore you to keep her safe. All I have ever wanted for her was to be free of the oppressive hand of the templars. This I know is much to ask, but you are her only hope for a happy life. I know you will show her the kindness and love that you showed me growing up. This is goodbye dear sister, for we are gone from this world. I am forever indebted to you._

_Love,_

_Moria_

Mother Gerina's face contorted into a scowl as she looked over the small girl. She crumpled up the missive and threw it at Dara.

"Guards!"

Two templars hurried across the room, taking her by the arms, a look of terror and confusion on the tiny mage's face.

"Lock her in the cellar while I decide what to do with this dirt mage," she sneered at the girl.

"Let her go!" Mira demanded of the Chantry Mother. The woman stared at her with asperity.

Dara's eyes widened, afraid of what the templars would do, but she was relieved to see Mira.

"And who are you? Another mage to keep this monster company?" she spat, glaring at her with immense hatred.

Two more templars flanked Mira as she moved her hands over the hilt of her swords.

"Grey Warden, Mira Mahariel," she said, staring at the woman challenging her for a retort. "And this child is in my custody." Her glare towards the woman never faltered as she took Dara by the arm pulling the little mage behind her. The templars looked daftly between Mother Gerina and Mira waiting for a command. When no challenge came from the Mother, Mira took Dara firmly by the hand and ushered her out of the building.

Mother Gerina's face was stone, locked in a venomous glare. "Well what are you waiting for? Go after them!" she demanded.

"Forgive me for saying so but we have no authority over the Grey, Mother Gerina," a templar guard spoke up, still unsure of the correct path to take in this situation.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "You would let _one _Grey Warden stand between you and that...that-" her face was turning a dark shade of crimson as her fury grew. "That maleficar!" she snarled and bared her yellow stained teeth. "The same maleficar that mercilessly slaughtered your brethren?" Her face contorted in rage. "Go after them!"

Mira and Dara exited the Chantry, only to be met by a group templars blocking the street. They paused on the front stairs; Dara looked up at her and strengthened the grip on her hand. With Dara trailing slightly behind her, Mira walked confidently toward them.

"Halt!" a voice called out from behind her.

She turned to see the previous templars emerging from the building.

"I am going to have to insist that you relinquish the maleficar," his voice boomed in a threatening tone.

The templars in the street positioned themselves in an offensive stance.

Mira drew her swords. "I Disagree," she said, in a clam and dangerous tone.

"Disable the Warden. Seize the girl!" was all they heard before the force of the Holy Smite sent them both flying.

Dara recovered quickly, ducking through the men's legs and squirming out of reach. Her quick, nimble movements caused several of the men to knock into each other. Mira saw this opportunity and acted upon it, careful to disable only the men as she began to defend the frightened mage. This became impossible as the templars attacks increased. A slash across her midsection told her to rethink her strategy.

A set of large metal gauntlets clamped around Dara's waist. Struggling to hold on to the girl as she thrashed about, the cold steel hands lifted her from the ground. Dara pounded at the templar's helmet, knocking it off his head. The man cursed at her and threw her over his shoulder. Taking full advantage of her angle, she sunk her teeth into the man's cheek, drawing blood. He howled in pain and shock, tossing her to the ground. She recovered quickly, rolling away just as the pommel of his sword came crashing towards her head.

Almost blinded by fury at the obvious attempt to kill Dara, Mira parried another blow from the offending templar, spinning and ducking to avoid his clumsy heavy sword. While blocking yet another murderous swing, she raised her leg, kicking him square in the groin.

_Well, that answers that question. No, they don't wear much under the skirt, _she thought, right before a well-placed hilt to her skull knocked her to the ground. Her eyes blurred and her head pounded as she rolled over in an attempt to block another blow from the man's sword.

"No!" Dara screamed as the man raised his arms, ready to finish her.

"Enough!" An angry guttural voice came echoing through the street.

The templars attack ceased as they froze in place, sheathing their weapons and saluting.

"You imbeciles!" A single templar shadowed by four other guards marched into the crowd.

"What in the Maker's name do you think you are doing?" the man bellowed.

Mother Gerina walked forward, descending the stairs. Her face lit up in contempt as she pointed her bony misshapen finger at Mira and Dara.

"This maleficar has ensorcelled this Grey Warden and attacked theses templars." Her rampant accusations were met with confusion and outrage.

Mira picked herself up off the ground, weapons still at the ready. "What a load of-" she began to shout at Mother Gerina, before the Knight-Commander raised a hand to silence them.

Weighing her circumstance but still appalled at the insubordinate templars, Mira continued. "I am Mira Mahariel, Commander of the Grey, and this _child_, is in my custody."

Dara shrank back behind her, poking her head around to look at the Knight-Commander.

"That is no _child," _the Mother's eyes flared in disdain, still pointing that accusatory finger at Darastrix, "_That _is a maleficar! A very deadly one at that." Mother Gerina drew closer still. "Her family is responsible for the slaughter of over fifty templars. This crime cannot go unpunished!"

Without warning Dara exploded from the shelter of Mira's legs. "They destroyed my home and killed my parents!" the little girl shouted, her face splotched with crimson. Her fingers trembled as they clutched Mira's tunic.

The Knight-Commander put a hand up to silence the Mother once again. With an obvious effort, Mother Gerina clenched her teeth and stifled any further comments.

"Knight-Commander Slothern," he addressed Mira, formally offering her a firm handshake.

"Impeccable timing, Commander," she added and sheathed her weapons.

He cleared his throat and looked around at the group of idle templars. "I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you on behalf of The Chantry and The Templar Guard, for this little misunderstanding."

"I hardly call attempting to murder a child, a small misunderstanding," she said bluntly while folding her arms across her chest.

Commander Slothern raised his head glaring at his troops." As you were!" he shouted, and they disbursed back to their posts.

Mother Gerina stood next to him, a sneer etched firmly into her face.

Mira cocked a half smile at her. "Now if you don't mind, we will be on our way. That is unless you still intend to lock us up, in which case I'm sure the King would be delighted to hear as to why you have imprisoned the Hero of Ferelden and a small child. That should prove to be a very interesting story on your part, I would imagine," she said with impudent affirmation.

The Knight-Commander hesitated for a moment before continuing. "And what is it you intend to do with this Mage," he asked, never glancing at Dara. "Surely you have more important matters to attend to, other than babysitting."

Mira tightened her jaw; she hadn't given it much thought. It seemed the girl had no other family to return to and sending her to the Tower just seemed cruel. On the other hand, she and Zevran were in no position to take care of a child, no matter how intelligent she seemed.

"What would you have me do? Conscript her?" Mira said sardonically. Knight-Commander Slothern frowned at the thought.

Without giving away too much information, she explained that she and her companion were headed to Cumberland for a meeting, and upon her return, she had planned to parley with First-Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir.

Knight-Commander Slothern agreed to her terms only if she wrote ahead to the Circle Tower notifying them of the apostate in her custody, and only if he and Mother Gerina saw to it personally that the missives were delivered. An odd request, but not unreasonable.

Mira sat at a large desk set up in a room off to the right of the Chapel. After an hour, she produced two Missives, one to King Alistair, and the other to the Circle Tower, both explaining Dara's situation in full detail.

Mother Gerina reluctantly allowed them to leave, turning to Knight-Commander Slothern to speak her mind when he cut her off.

"It is unwise to threaten a Commander of the Grey Wardens. Especially one so close to the King. She could make our lives...uncomfortable," he said watching the door shut behind Mira.

"Do you even know what that _child_ is capable of?" Mother Gerina hissed. "Because I do!" She stared at him as if to sear through his skin.

He remained composed. "Would you rather she was conscripted and out of your reach entirely?" he asked cocking and eyebrow. Her face softened into a sneer and she shook her head.

"We may not have jurisdiction in Jader," he said. "Val Royeaux however, is another matter."

The Mother's face lightened, as she understood him. She smiled watching the missives burn in the fire.

It had been sometime since Zevran had felt the thrill of hunting alone. He made sure to dress for the occasion.

Black breeches tucked into knee high boots, a brown leather jerkin hung open over a loosely laced shift revealing just a hint of his smooth chest. He wore his hair down letting it frame his face, and a thick cowl hung over his shoulders flowing behind him as he strode down the narrow side road.

It was littered with signs representing different goods and services. At the very end was a well-decorated fine metalsmith's shop. Outside, behind a folding easel, sat a young woman surrounded by various paintings of the harbor town.

"What can I do for you, ser?" She eyed the elf suspiciously before noticing how well dressed he was.

He shrugged off her apprehensive approach. "I am looking for a ring," he said, his eyes roaming over the artwork.

She stood from her work. "Then you wish to see Mas-" she stopped and stuttered. "My husband," she corrected herself, lowering her eyes to the floor and gesturing for him to follow.

The small wooden door creaked open, leading them down a few stone stairs to a well-lit workshop. Ornate swords, Shields and Crests hung on the walls, a counter upon which several elegant necklaces and other jewelry were displayed, sat in the center. In the far corner of the room, an older man with white hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, hovered intently over a stone stove.

He poked at the fire a few more times before acknowledging their presence.

"Yes?" he said looking back and forth between them and wiping his hands on his leather apron.

The young woman bowed her head. "This man is looking for a ring," she said simply, and backed towards the door.

He surveyed Zevran for a moment, pulling his gaunt wrinkled face into a narrow frown. "For what purpose?" he said flatly.

Zevran straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back. "The proposal kind," he answered

"Yours?" the man said, still assessing the elf in front of him.

Zevran furrowed his brow. "Why does everyone keep asking me this?" He shifted his weight and crossed him arms. "Would you prefer it if I said it was for my Master?" he answered in an exasperated tone.

"Coin is coin; I care not where it comes from." His accent was thick and clearly Orlesian. The man stroked his chin a few times, nodded once, and opened a drawer from a cabinet behind him. Positioning himself behind the counter, he laid out a covered wooden tray covered in a thin cloth.

Upon uncovering it, he revealed a wide collection of rings. They varied in design, shape, and size. Each more intricately carved then the next. Nothing really caught his eye as he sifted through them. Some were too gaudy while others, although remarkable, did not strike him as special enough.

The look of concern on Zevran's face did not go unnoticed by the artisan. The man stood observing him for a while before sighing heavily again and removing the tray.

"Perhaps you are looking for something with more," he rolled his hand in thought, "charm?"

The man returned once again with a smaller tray. "These are some of my latest designs," he carefully unfolded a silk cloth allowing a few rings to fall onto the tray. "The metals and stones are very rare," he continued sounding quite pleased.

There it was. Something perfect. Different from all the others, small and unassuming, but beautiful. Two dragons, one of dark silver and the other in pale gold, their tails entwined around each other's bodies, their heads facing one another with tiny claws clutching a black opal. Upon examining it further, he noticed that it looked as if clouds of smoke were moving through the stone itself.

"Ahh," the metalsmith grinned proudly. "You have excellent taste." His smile halted to a straight unmoving line. "I am surprised."

Zevran's poise remained unaltered as the man continued to insult him subtly.

"Forgive my ignorance," he said in a smooth tone, "but what is this stone?" He twirled the ring around his thumb and forefinger.

The metalsmith removed a pair of hand held spectacles from his apron pocket and took the ring.

"This is a black moon stone. It comes from the Deep Roads, naturally infused with lyrium causing the tiny moving fog-like effect within the stone." Pointing at it with a dirty yellow fingernail, he continued. "It's said to have some kind of healing properties." He handed it back with a puzzled look on his face. "Or was it longevity? Who knows? It's all the same to me."

The slightest of grins washed across Zevran's face. "I'll take it."

He plucked the ring from Zevran's hand. "It won't come cheap." With a scrutinizing look on his face he sighed. "Five hundred sovereigns."

Zevran chuckled and produced one of two leather satchels. "I believe this should suffice." The corners of his mouth curved into a sharp smirk, "A healthier sum then you expected," he said, half-contemptuously. He shook the bag allowing its contents to jingle with the sound of heavy coin. The metalsmith smiled as Zevran offered him a gloved hand.

"I am Louise Gaston, and you are?" the metalsmith said, lingering on the last word.

"Belmar, Traveling Merchant from Denerim. A pleasure," he said swiftly, breaking the handshake and nodding his head in a quick bow.

Master Gaston's ridged posture relaxed slightly as Zevran dropped the sack on the table. He weighed and toyed with it in the palm of his hand before dropping it in his apron pocket.

A group of four well-dressed men entered the workshop just as Master Gaston handed him the ring. He took one look at them and began exchanging pleasantries as he ushered Zevran out the door.

The sun had begun to set as the city bells began to ring. Vendors began to turn their signs and close up shops. Zevran took it as an opportunity to eavesdrop on the goings on within the now locked workshop. He made his way to the roof, stepping and jumping in perfect cadence as the sound of the bells reverberated off the city walls. Situating himself above a window, he could hear the men clearly as they began to speak.

They spoke of the day's profits and which merchants were, and were not, cooperating with their payments. Nothing of interest to him came up in conversation, until Master Gaston spoke up.

"I hear there was a disturbance with the Grey Warden this afternoon, at the Chantry," he said with a sneer.

Zevran clenched his jaw listening more intently.

"I thought I had made it abundantly clear that she was to be simply watched, nothing more." His voice was deep and stern.

"The Warden Commander had a dispute with Mother Gerina over some apostate mage," one of the men commented in defense. Master Gaston grunted in displeasure. The sound of shuffling feet and the thumping of cabinet doors drowned out the first of the retorts from the men.

"I ran to Knight-Commander Slothern as soon as I saw the scuffle," another voice spoke hurriedly before a calmer voice interjected.

"He seems to have the situation under control. Mother Gerina seems to have quieted down quite a bit since her earlier rants. Neither she, nor anyone else for that matter, seems distressed by the incident." The voice cleared its throat. "Knight-Commander Slothern also wishes you to know that he and his companion will be traveling to Cumberland."

There was the sound of more shuffling footsteps and the rustling of paper, followed by some incoherent grumblings amongst the men.

Yet another voice spoke. "Our contact at the All-the-Way Inn is meeting with Elric as we speak. He has been elected to administer the formula to the target. He should be returning shortly." The voice said flatly.

As much as Zevran tried to make out forms in the reflection of the window across from him, he could not. The foggy blob-like forms seemed to merge before he heard the sounds of glasses clinking together.

"Summu Nura," they said in unison, followed by some grunts and stifled coughs. The wooden door opened and shut with a thud and sharp clink of the metal latch as Master Gaston locked the workshop up for the evening.

Zevran almost flew back to the All-the-Way Inn, to find their room empty. A pang of concern poked at his gut, remembering the ominous words of the unnamed voice from the shop.

"_Not a poison? A formula?"_ he asked himself, thoughts of her unexplained illness rolling repeatedly in his mind. The torture he would inflict on their missing traveling companions would be that of legend. Taking pleasure in planning exactly what poisons and tactics to inflict upon them, he made his way down to the Hung, Drawn and Quarted Tavern.

Mira. accompanied by a disheartened Dara, sat opposite each other at a table in a far corner. An empty mug and plate were cast off to the side. She had been rebuking the small mage for her carelessness, trying her best to explain that her anger stemmed from concern for the young girl's safety. After awhile, she found that she was beginning to remind herself of Wynne, and chuckled softly at the thought.

She brought the rim of her full mug to her lips before an unseen hand snatched it away. Looking up in shock, she found a visibly agitated Zevran leaning on their table, swirling and sniffing at the liquid in her mug.

He wrinkled his nose. "A bit early for rum, is it not?" he said frowning.

Mira scoffed and attempted to grab at her drink. He swiftly evaded her.

"After the day I have had, I deserve a drink," she stated, unamused by his antics. "Besides, it was a gift from the bartender."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, "Which bartender is that?"

Feeling slightly annoyed at his behavior, she waved a hand loosely in the direction of the bar. "I don't know, the man behind the bar. He was there earlier."

Zevran furrowed his brow and dumped the contents of the mug onto the floor. "There are no male bartenders here," he said menacingly.

The heavy wooden door of the tavern shut loudly. "Pardon me for a moment," he said, excusing himself to pursue his suspicion.

Mira and Dara exchanged a perplexed look. They sat there for a moment deciding if they should follow him. Still feeling the fatigue of the afternoon's battle, Mira decided against it. She sank deeper into her chair and ordered another drink.

After awhile, Zevran returned, wiping his hands on his tunic before taking a seat next to Mira. "Excuse my indiscretion, my dear Warden," he said in a warm and lighthearted tone. "It seems I was privy to some news on our missing traveling companions."

Mira's eyes darkened as he spoke. Before she could question him on any further information, a shrill scream echoed from outside the building. Mira shot him an accusatory look, to which he shrugged modestly.

"Shall we retire to the room then?" he said, standing from the table and taking Dara by the hand.

They disappeared into the crowd of anxious bar patrons now gathering at the door to have a glance at the commotion from outside.

Once safely inside the room, he gathered Mira into his arms and kissed her, instinctively pushing her behind him and drawing his weapons as a voice spoke up from a darkened corner.

"Feeling a bit over protective are we?" The husky voice of Mistress Evangelina came clear as she rose from her seat.

"What are you doing here?" Zevran said in a demanding growl.

Dara's eyes grew to the size of apples as she took in the sight of the mixed gender dwarf. Mira held a similar expression; she moved over behind the magelette and attempted to cover her eyes. Dara, mouth slightly agape, moved Mira's fingers apart to try her best to figure out what exactly she was seeing.

Mistress Evangelina adjusted the leather wrapped tightly around her chest as she sauntered across the room and Mira placed her other hand over Dara's eyes. The little mage squirmed underneath Mira's blinding hold. Becoming frustrated, she finally broke free, changing into a sparrow and fluttering to perch on the top of the bedpost.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Mistress Evangelina clicked her tongue as she approached. "Forgive my manners," she said offering a thick knuckled hand to Mira. "I am Mistress Evangelina." Her eyes roamed over the Warden as she lingered on their handshake. "You must be Mira, the one who has our Zevran traipsing all over the countryside. Charmed," she finished, twisting the last word in a condescending tone.

"I'll ask you one more time." Zevran inched closer looking down at her. "What are you are doing here," he said in a louder, more threatening tone.

Mistress Evangelina let go of Mira's hand, looked up at him, and smiled warmly. "Oh, don't flatter yourself Zevran," she said, lowering the tip of his blade with her finger and patting him on the cheek. "It wasn't me who poisoned your Warden here."

Mira exchanged a glance with Zevran, wiped her lips, and retrieved her fingers to examine them.

Zevran took a step back, his eyes pulsing with deadly intent. In a far off distance, Mistress Evangelina felt a quiver of fear run up her spine. She cleared her throat, crossed the floor to a chair facing the corner, and spun it around. There, securely restrained and gagged, Zevran recognized the serving girl from the evening previous.

"Explain!" Mistress Evangelina said in a deep guttural and demanding tone as she kicked the chair and its captive towards Zevran.

Mira stood backcrossing her arms, not saying a word, just staring at the scene unfolding in front of her. That was one excuse, the other being that she did enjoy watching him work.

With a quick flip of his blade, he tore the gag from the woman's mouth. A small whimper escaped her lips as he grasped her firmly by the throat. Thumb and forefinger pressing firmly against her windpipe, he brought his face close to hers.

"Explain," he growled.

The young woman's face began to flush as he increased his grip. "I did no such thing!" she choked, feeling the blood building in her head.

"No, you did not. _That _man is dead," he spat. Her eyes glazed over as she tried to hide the fear welling up inside her. "Beside Knight-Commander Slothern, who is your contact?"

"What do you mean _beside _Slothern?" Mistress Evangelina asked sounding genuine.

He gave her a sharp look suggesting she hold her tongue. Defiant as always, she snapped at her bar maiden. "Go on. Tell 'em!"

"A," she choked again, "a blond girl, strange blue eyes...payed a great deal." Her face had begun to swell and turn a bright shade of crimson. "P-pia," she finished with a struggle.

"Well that explains something," Mira stated blandly. Both Zevran and Mistress Evangelina looked at her waiting for her to elaborate. "Templar Commanders are not known for letting an apostate mage walk away, Grey Warden custody or not." She noticed the blank look on both of their faces and continued. "There was a scuffle regarding a certain child mage," she gave Dara an admonishing look. "Why she was there in the first place, we have yet to discuss. Mother Gerina was less then gracious-"

Mistress Evangelina cut her off. "Heh! Mother Gerina. What a cow," she scoffed and muttered under her breath.

"She sent her templars to physically retrieve Dara. I objected," Mira said with a scowl.

"Disagreed! Ha!" Mistress Evangelina grunted. "You put thirteen templars out of commission for at least a week," she laughed.

"Thirteen?" he said as he quirked his brow with a vague smirk.

Mira shook her head. "Tomorrow it will be a hundred," she groaned.

Zevran turned his attention back to the shaking barmaid. "Where is Pia now?" he demanded, lifting her by the throat.

"G-gone," she coughed again. "Left with C-commander...Slothern, after he saved your ass," she hissed, her eyes pointing at Mira. Zevran threw her backwards with such a force, she and the chair toppled to the floor with a thud.

"Brasca!" he spat and turned back to Mistress Evangelina, pointing his blade in her direction. "Exactly how am I to believe_ you _had no hand in this," he said with a quiet fury in his voice.

She casually lifted the barmaid off the floor and smiled at him. "If I was, then why would I have killed one of my own?" she said innocently.

The barmaid uttered a shocked, "Wha-" as Mistress Evangelina slid her blade across the young woman's throat. A look of horror crossed over her face as the blood poured from her neck, gurgling and sputtering as blood spat from her lips.

Satisfied, Zevran lowered his blade. "So why help us then?" he inquired but was silenced by yet another disturbance from the street below.

The three of them rushed to the window. A woman was screaming from a distance, her wails becoming louder as she staggered down the street. A group of on lookers crowded around her, gasping and shouting. Zevran's face darkened as the figure stumbled into the lamplight. Willamina, Master Gaston's wife, wailed louder still as she collapsed holding the lifeless body of a child in her arms.

Mira gasped at the sight. Before he could stop her, she was gone. With no other option, they hurried after her.

Mira pushed through the crowd of people huddling around the anguished woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What has happened? Who did this?" she asked with an urgent concern.

The woman looked up at her with red streaks and tears streaming down her face. "They've killed Master Gaston as well," she sobbed.

"Who?" Mira continued to try to pry the grieving woman.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know."

Mistress Evangelina grabbed Zevran by the arm and spun him around, leading him away from the edge of the crowd.

"Zevran, please tell me you didn't," she scolded, looking at his face for some sign that she was incorrect in her assumption. She found none.

A sickness clutched at his chest. "I would never harm a child, you know this!" he hissed at her.

"Not the _child,_ you sod! Master Gaston!" she said in a low gruff tone. "Did you not think to ask me for my insight before hauling off and poisoning the man?" She grasped him firmly by both shoulders. "Who contacted you?"

He frowned, bewildered by her reaction. "A merchant woman and her husband, as you said. She knew my name," he said sharply.

Mistress Evangelina shook him. "Your mark was for Knight-Commander Slothern! Not Louise Gaston!" There was a sense of urgency in her voice. "Do you know what this means?" For the second time in his life, he saw a look of fear in a Master's eyes.

"Other than I have killed an innocent child?" he mumbled, a distant look of pain flashed through his eyes.

The grip of her large masculine hands began to bruise the elf's arms. "You are a hunted man, and I have been betrayed."

There was an empty pang in his stomach as he watched the sadness in his Wardens' eyes as she attempted to console the anguished woman. Knowing that it was he who had caused this, left him with a self-loathing he had never experienced before.

"I care not for being a hunted man. Let them come," he said, his face void of any emotion.

Mistress Evangelina exhaled and she relaxed her grip. "The child was an accident," she said, trying her best to relieve his guilt. He looked away at some unknown star in the night sky. "What did you use?" she asked curiously.

"The shake and satchel method. I hid the wax-coated poison in the coins, releasing it as I shook the bag in front of him. The activator was on my glove alone," he sighed.

"He would have died exactly an hour later." Stepping back, she put a hand to her bristly chin in thought. "It's a fool-proof poison, gathering you have the right set up." He shot her a dirty look and she cleared her throat. "I do not doubt your skill, my boy. I am simply wondering how deep this goes. Why would one client go to such lengths to manipulate The Crows?"

"I would remind you that I am not a Crow," he said with disdain.

Mistress Evangelina squared her shoulders. "It matters not. What does matter is that _we_ have a problem."

Zevran, Mira, and Mistress Evangelina spent several hours exchanging information and forming a plan for a secure information exchange. They agreed that leaving the city as soon as possible was in the best interest of all of them. Mistress Evangelina arranged for a cargo ship, leaving before sunrise, to provide them with quarters for the short trip to Val Royeaux.

Dara, having been sent back to the room after the announcement of Louise Gaston's death, sat perched on the windowsill, her head nestled under a wing.

Mira's head was pounding as they quietly gathered their things. They found themselves sitting in front of the fireplace, exhausted but unwilling to sleep.

Zevran couldn't get the image of the dead boy out of his mind. Guilt gnawed at his intestines and he swallowed a lump forming in his throat.

"It wasn't your fault," Mira said, breaking the silence.

He didn't respond. She moved from her chair to kneel in front of him. He looked away and murmured dismissively. Situating herself between his legs, she rested her head on his thigh.

"I know it was an accident," she purred, trying her best to soothe him.

He looked down at her and watched as her eyes drooped shut. Stroking her long dark hair, he slid the ring out of his armor and twirled it between his fingers.

"I don't know, amora," he whispered, slipping it back into its hiding place. "I just don't know." He leaned over and placed a kiss on her temple.

_**A/N:** Petrichor- I swear this is a real word. Spell check and the online dictionary are liars! _

_Petrichor- 1. The scent of rain on dry earth. 2. The yellow organic oil that yields this scent. _

_**Etymology: **From Greek (petros, stone) + á (ichor, ichor), thus "rock-essence." The term was coined by two Australian researchers in 1964 for an article in the journal Nature. _

My other new favorite words are_ **Pulchritudinous**_ and__**Pedantic. **Or maybe I just like words that start with P. Either way, words are fun, they make me feel all fancy when I'm having drinks at the local dive bar.

As always very big **thank you **to ZevGirl for her fantastic Beta-ness. I hope I can finish up another chapter before the Holidays put me out of commission. If not then Happy Holidays and stay warm and fuzzy.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N – Sorry for the delay, we all know how life can get. I wound up throwing in some game dialogue. I was in the middle of writing this cheese encrusted romantic bit while on vacation when I received a phone call that my cat had dropped dead. What a mood killer. _

**Ch.14 **

**Meanwhile, Back at the Hall of Alistair**

Arl Eamon thumbed the thick stack of parchment that lay before him on the desk. An unspoken tension hovered in the air as he and Alistair finished the last of the month's complaints from the Banns. While the king had grown quite strong in the previous months, his awkward boyish quirks were still apparent. More so when faced with lying to the one man he considered the last glimpse of anything resembling a father figure. Even that was fragile.

He absently fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. "Oh, and there will be three guests staying in the unoccupied quarters in the east wing." He looked up to meet the inquisitive eyes of his uncle before continuing. "A mage, Finn, the templar, Ser Carroll, and a Dwarf student of the Circle, Dagna. They were sent here to update the inventory of the phylacteries stored here in Denerim." He searched Eamon's eyes for a hint of disbelief, curled his fingers into a fist, and coughed into his hand. "I gave them the privacy of that particular area as they will not be disturbed while working."

Eamon twisted at the heavy silver beard covering his wizened features. "Funny, I don't remember reading any missive from First Enchanter Irving or Knight-Commander Greagoir," he said in his usual placid tone, searching Alistair for a response.

Alistair hesitated briefly, and righted his posture trying to dislodge any doubt his uncle may have had. "What with all the issues of the Bann's and resolving any hesitation regarding the crown, it must have slipped my mind," he said assuredly.

Arl Eamon drummed his fingers on the desk. "I see," were the only words he spoke, knowing that Alistair wasn't telling him the full story, and taking note of how he only looked him directly in the eyes in short intervals. Deciding not to press the matter further, they adjourned for the evening.

Alistair walked swiftly down the hall and rounded the corner, exhaling and slumping his shoulders in relief. He returned to his quarters, nearly managing to avoid any contact with his personal guards.

"Sire." A staunch man of remarkable height nodded to him as he entered his chambers. With a short wave of his hand, Alistair motioned for the guard to step inside.

Ser Ferren had been promoted to the Commander of Alistair's personal guard after much debate. Alistair liked the stern abrasiveness of the older man's personality when giving orders and often used his stature as a point of intimidation. Despite his menacing appearance, the man had a kind heart and was loyal almost to a fault. He reminded Alistair a bit of his old traveling companion, Sten, and this brought him a familiar comfort.

Ser Ferren was quite the contrast to his predecessor, Ser Angus. Having been witness to the King's tryst during the palace's last masque, Alistair had never been truly comfortable with the way the man had looked at him. Knowing better then to express his personal opinions, the greasy, ginger haired man had held his tongue, a snide smirk barely visible on his gaunt freckled face as he overheard Arl Eamon expressing his disapprobation over Alistair's indiscretion. This alone was enough to make the king demote him regardless of Eamon's thoughts on the matter. He was less then accommodating when Ser Ferren had been promoted.

In the months past, the two men had developed a bond. Despite a rocky start, Ser Ferren disagreed with Alistair's knack for sneaking out of the palace to dress down and drink with the commoners. He had even gone to such lengths as to find and nail the secret entrance in his chambers shut. After some struggle on Alistair's part, he managed to pry the door open once again, this time prompting Ser Ferren to nail it shut from the inside, leaving the drunken king hopelessly trapped behind the wall.

After becoming lost for hours and overhearing one of his men in coitus with a chambermaid, he finally found his way back to the front door of his chambers. The two guards posted outside his door were quite startled to see their king haggard, covered in dirt and smelling like a brewery. A private screaming match took place between the two men. They had agreed to disagree when Ser Ferren let it slip that he had been acting on Arl Eamon's orders. Instead of pulling the overused power card, Alistair instead persuaded the man to join him in a beer. Several pints later, the two men drunkenly made their way to the alley behind the tavern and haphazardly making idle conversation, unaware of two bandits shadowing their path. It was Ser Ferren who received the first blow, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. The two bandits thought to make quick work of the smaller man once they had disabled the larger threat, but they were mistaken. As one man swung his sword, Alistair ducked, pivoted, and grabbed the man's wrist wrenching it backwards and forcing him to drop his weapon.

"Ser!Behind you!" Ser Ferren shouted, picking himself up off the ground.

Still holding the man firmly by the wrist, he spun the man around just in time to use him as a shield, blocking what would have been a mortal blow. An arm flailing wildly, the attacker was lifted off his feet, two huge arms wrapped around his chest, a sharp wince and a gasp escaped the man's lips as Ser Ferren snapped the man's spine. His body crumpled, his torso lay at an odd angle as he twitched lifelessly on the ground. With his head still spinning from the blow or the ale, he didn't see a third assailant approaching from behind. In one swift movement, Alistair had retrieved the man's sword, parried to the left, and struck the would-be attacker, sending his head flying toward a stunned Ser Ferren. The statuesque guard slumped his shoulders and breathed a heavy sigh.

"Some Commander I am," he grumbled, "allowing my King to do all the fighting, while I stand around like a stunned little girl."

Alistair laughed, reached up, and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I was a Templar and I'm still a Grey Warden, you know," he said, trying to restore the man's pride.

"I seem to forget that fact. Something I will have to remedy in the future," he said assessing his king in a new light.

Groaning from stress, Alistair poured himself a chalice of fine liqueur from the decanter arranged neatly on a small table by the fireplace. He slunk heavily into his favorite armchair, thoughts of Mira's last missive weighing heavily on his mind.

_Dear King Alistair, _

_It seems as if our new traveling companions have left us bereft of our horses and our senses alike. After a peculiar evening of muddy memories, we found ourselves waking up with no small effort, our supplies, mounts, and company absent. We have made it to a small village not far from the West Hills._

_I, however, do not remember arriving here. As we were walking, I began to feel ill, a churning in my stomach followed by a wracking pain throughout my body. Not unlike what I felt when taking the Joining. I seem to have vomited blood. Zevran believes it was poison. I am not so sure. Although I am weary, I seem to have recovered. This leads me to ask if there is any post illness associated with being a Grey Warden. _

_Zevran is hell bent on pursuing our said traveling companions after we have reached the Circle Tower. I must admit I am not against the idea. _

_Fare you well, Alistair, I will keep you informed. _

_Best Regards, _

_Mira Mahariel_

He was concerned, to say the least. No Warden he had ever heard of had experienced any type of sickness related to the Joining. Leliana had done her best to calm his fears, telling him she was in the safe hands of a particularly skilled assassin. This reminder did not settle him at all. Still harboring animosity towards Zevran, he sneered and weakly accused the elf of being the culprit. Leliana would hear none of it and chastised him for his childish behavior. Frustrated, but knowing she was right, he finally relented.

Several months later, he had received another missive from Mira, this one much more serious than the last. As he read her vague description of the incident at the Tower, he realized that this was no illness. To make matters worse, she had in her custody a child apostate, something that the Chantry did not take lightly.

Alistair sat back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him. He tilted his head back and dozed off.

The feisty Dalish elf had come crashing into his life; his closest confidant and at one time much, much more. Thoughts of him silently watching her by the pond at camp, her angled features illuminated in the moonlight as she danced to some melody heard by her ears alone. She was remarkable, like nothing he had ever seen before. Amidst all the carnage and treachery, all the needless slaughter and all the pain and fury, there stood this untarnished beauty, floating and twirling in the wind as free and careless as nature itself, and just as deadly. At that moment in time, she represented the embodiment of the freedom he so desperately wanted. Always remaining just out of reach, she was truly wild.

The sound of a twig snapping under his foot barely broke the silence before her dagger nearly missed him, burying it deep in the bark of a tree, mere inches from his head. It was then that he had nearly exploded, folded her in his arms, and confessed the feelings that had been boiling over in his chest.

Instead, he had slipped in what he thought was mud and came face to face with the business end of her longsword.

"Mira!" The sound of his own voice startled him as he regained his footing. She stood over him, a look of shock turned quickly to embarrassment as she realized whom he was.

"I- I'm-," he stammered, lifting himself off the ground and brushing off the dirt and twigs clinging to his pants. He sighed heavily realizing the look on the elf's face. "It's not what you think, I swear." He continued to grasp blindly at the words evading his mind. She folded her arms, her mouth pulled into a tight scowl as she stared at him through narrow eyes.

Hanging his head in defeat, he continued to ramble on some semblance of an excuse or apology, neither of which was remotely close the Queen's English. Mira watched his struggle for quite some time before she couldn't allow him further anguish. She smiled up at him, chuckling softly and sheathing her blade.

"It's alright Alistair, I believe you." A softness warmed over her jade-green eyes. "Are you sweating?" she said tilting her head in curiosity.

A fear gnawed at his insides as he wondered if she could hear his thoughts. "Am I?" he said with a nervous titter and wiped his brow. "Oh, I guess I am, a little, maybe."

He fumbled around the pockets of his trousers, finally producing something folded in his hand.

"Here, look at this. Do you know what it is?" Gently resting between his thumb and forefinger was a red rose.

Mira smirked. "Your new weapon of choice? " The corners of her mouth curved into a teasing grin.

He threw his head back in a laugh, relieved at the broken tension. Holding the delicate flower by the stem, he flicked it back and forth. "Yes, that's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!"

This was one of the reasons he had grown fond of her so quickly; she shared his sense of humor, laughed at his jokes no matter how corny they were and surprised him with a quick retort. "Or, you know it could just be a rose; I know that's pretty dull in comparison." He looked sheepishly down at the flower.

She tilted her head curiously looking back and forth between him and the rose. "You've been thumbing that flower for a while now."

"I picked it in Lothering, and I remember thinking 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'" A small sigh escaped his lips, and he shrugged slightly, and then continued. "I probably should have left it alone but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Mira stood in front of him contemplating his intentions. "What do you intend to do with it?" she had finally asked.

"I thought that I might...give it to you actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. " He paused for a moment, unsure of what to say next. A nervous pang rumbled in his stomach and he swallowed. "I thought maybe I should say something; tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... darkness."

Mira had been taken aback by his unexpected sentiment. Through all of the recent horrific events, the most painful was the loss of her first love, Tamlen. She had all but given up on kindness. Suddenly at a loss for words, she reached out and took it from his hand.

"Thank you," was all she managed to say.

Alistair watched the bewildered look in her eyes. Suddenly feeling the urge to run screaming from her as if she were the arch demon it's self, his mouth spoke before his brain could catch up.

"Now if we could move right on past this awkward embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits… I'd appreciate it." He scratched the top of his head and turned to look anywhere but at her.

To his amazement, an unexpected pair of arms reached up around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. His body reacted where his mind could not and before he knew what was happening their lips had touched, and in an instant, they were pressed against each other.

"Alistair, "she said in a whisper, her lips barely grazing his.

"Yes?" he answered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

"You stepped in something foul."


	15. Chapter 15

**Ch 15**

"**Right, and now it gets complicated." - Alistair**

Ser Carroll awoke with a blistering headache. A fuliginous air hung heavy in his mind, every muscle felt stiff as if it was plagued by some unknown malady. The little sleep he had gotten was tormented by nightmares he couldn't escape. Turning to slide his feet onto the floor, his body shuttered and recoiled as the cold draft assaulted his toes. With great effort, he forced himself to stand. The room spun slowly as he placed a trembling hand on the wooden bedpost.

"Just a bleeding minute!" he bellowed, startled at the sound of his own voice causing him to cover his ears as the pounding reverberated through the inside of his skull.

The muffled voice of Finn shouted from the other side of the door. "Mages aren't supposed to be the ones fetching Templars. It's the other way around, you know?"

"I said just a minute!" he shouted, still grasping the sides of his head.

"Fine! I'll just be here then, trying not to explode the castle in a fiery rain of kittens, or whatever you think we mages do." He was obviously frustrated making it apparent by further banging on the door. After several more minutes, Finn grew tired of waiting and finally wandered off in search of Dagna.

Ser Carroll sat on the floor, rummaging through his rucksack. This task was proving to be a difficult one, his fingers felt like clubs making maneuvering impossible. Several maddening tries later, he managed to produce the precious thing that eluded him so. Breathing a sigh of relief, a shaking hand carefully uncorked the blue glowing vial.

It didn't take Finn long to locate Dagna, she was pacing about their makeshift workroom, dividing the books and scrolls in various stacks. He stood behind her quietly watching her work. If she had noticed him, she paid no mind as she continued to read and sort.

"Ahh, I see." He circled around the assorted categories. "You've got them by subject and alphabetized. Nice job," he said admiring her work.

Dagna perked her head up. "I've been here all morning," she said excitedly. "It starts with Alchemy, then Blood Magic, Forbidden Arts of the Chantry, Geography, which also includes lay lines in Thedas, History, Myths and Legends, Spells and incantations, and finally Translations." She looked up at him with a proud grin wrapped across her mouth.

"Have you found any leads yet?" he asked thumbing through a book of Thedas lay lines.

"Not really," she answered in a thoughtful tone. "I've gathered some handwritten pages and charts over here." She rounded the table gesturing to a small group of papers. Gently setting aside a stack of loose pages revealing a small battered book wrapped in a single piece of soft leather.

"There is some strange lettering in this one, all handwritten." She handed him the book.

Finn carefully cradled the ledger in his palm as if it were his most prized possession. "Makers breath! I have only seen writing like this once before. A long time ago, there was an old book on ancient Tevinter languages, lost languages of the Archons. It disappeared from the Circle Library shortly after. This writing is familiar-"

He was cut off as the door began to rattle. A disheveled looking Ser Carroll entered the room, grunting a greeting and chewing on a bit of sweet bread.

"A good morning to you too," Dagna chided in her usual upbeat manner.

"As I was saying," Finn continued, ignoring the templar's presence, "If I remember correctly the language dates back to 800 TE."

"Before the first Blight," Finn and Dagna spoke simultaneously.

The mage grinned at her. "This inscription here." He pointed to a faded word scribbled inside cover of the makeshift book. "_Summu Nura_," he said phonetically sounding out the words in front of him. "If I am correct, it means 'They who are deprived of light'."

Ser Carroll leaned over Finn's shoulder, dropping crumbs into the binding of the ledger. "Oh, right. I remember those books," he said in an impassive tone. The two looked up at him with twin expressions of both shock and curiosity.

"Oh, so templars can read, that's fascinating." Finn said glaring at him and wishing he would just stand silently by the door.

He continued to munch on his breakfast as the pair waited anxiously for a response.

"And?" Dagna prompted.

"And nothing, the Chantry had us remove them. Wanted them sent to Val Royeaux or someplace," he trailed off, now hovering and dropping crumbs over the broken table halves. Finn rushed over to him, brushing off the templars careless debris.

"Would you mind being a bit more careful? Some of us are trying to conduct an investigation here." His eyes squinted into an annoyed glare.

A muffled "What?" came out of the templar as he shrugged, "It's not like I'm going to break it."

Finn threw up his hands in exasperation, "That is not the point!" He puffed up his chest to try to meet the templars stature, "You have done nothing but whine and moan this entire time! You're about as useful as a legless bronto pulling a cart." His voice rose almost to a yell as he continued to vent.

"This isn't getting us anywhere." The reasonable tone of Dagna stepped in trying to quell any further outbursts. Finn took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, his face becoming flushed.

"Ser Carroll, you mentioned that there were books removed from the Circle Tower?" She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side.

Quickly finishing the last bite of bread and swallowing, he nodded. "A little over a year and a half ago. Knight Commander Greagoir had a handful of us remove a whole slew of books. That's all I know." He shrugged his shoulders. "Go ask the Chantry."

"Bah!" she said insolently. "As if the Chantry knows anything other than the history it creates," she scoffed, resulting in an unseen smirk from Finn.

Ser Carroll pursed his lips and turned his back on them, picking up a book from the pile and seating himself at the far end of the long table. The book entitled simply, Dragon Cults was a large tome with a red dragon emblazoned on the cover. Attempting to seem as if he were actually doing something, Ser Carroll flipped through its pages haphazardly looking for pictures in between the endless pages of monotonous writing, leaning on his elbows on one side of the volume for support. His head seemed to slip off his shoulders now and again, only for him to catch it and jerk himself back upright.

He continued this process for quite some time, giving a quick look around to see if they had noticed every time he did so. They never paid him any mind, immersed in their own perspicacious discussion. His eyelids had become heavier and heavier, unable to keep them open he drifted off causing his elbow to momentarily slip out from under him, awaking only when his face slammed into the seam of the book and his head lurched up in shock as the pages flipped over themselves. When his eyes focused again, he was taken aback by the picture the old tome had rested on.

Before him was an all too familiar site. It depicted a mage hovering in a state of limbo over the immobile body of an unknown soldier. A black ichor surrounded the mage interlacing itself through his arms and legs, winding up his body and almost engulfing his head. It was the exact representation of the incident that got him sent on this Maker forsaken mission. He slammed the tome shut and stood from his chair. Without a word, he briskly left the room, slamming the door behind him. Bewildered, Finn and Dagna stared at each other wide eyed before resuming their conversation.

Ser Carroll was almost in a run as he made his way back to his bed chamber. Breathing heavily, he threw the old book down and locked the door behind him. His heart was pounding in his chest and his hands were visibly shaking. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow stinging his eyes. Collapsing into a chair set in front of a small desk, he fumbled at the pocket of his worn trousers. He carefully poured a good amount of red dust on the surface in front of him from a small leather bag hidden in his trousers.

Searching again, he produced a slim hollow reed that he used to scrape and mold the pile into a neat straight line. With a finger, he pressed one nostril closed, inserting the reed into the other, and inhaling deeply. The line of red dust disappeared, quickly working its way up his nose and down his throat. He coughed involuntarily as his body tried to fight off the invading foreign substance. Thousands of tiny red veins encircled the sclera of his eyes as if reaching for his irises and for a moment, he thought his head would explode. Clenching his fists bracing against the rush of blood pulsating through his temples, a maniacal grin spread across his lips. His face became etched with a fierce concentration and he began to read.

The door of the workroom burst open. Dagna shrieked stumbling over a pile of books and smashing into the heavy wooden table, sending a slew of heavy old tomes crashing to the floor. Fear shot through Finn like an arrow, mindlessly he shot one hand into the air, and flashes of lightening begin to trickle from his fingertips.

He extended his left hand directly in front of him, his right hand shooting up in the air simultaneously. A burst of white light shot from his left to his right hand. Instinctively, Ser Carroll crossed his arms over his chest releasing a surge of mana cleansing. The release was unexpectedly powerful, lifting both Dagna and Finn off their feet and throwing them backwards with great force.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing!" Dagna shouted at the stunned templar, quick to regain her footing. A semi-unconscious Finn lay in a heap groaning, his head wobbling on his shoulders. She offered him a hand up, allowing him to lean on her while he stabilized himself.

"Well, what in the Maker's dainty small clothes does he think he's doing?" Ser Carroll retorted pointing an accusing finger at the disheveled mage.

"You scared the life out of me. What did you expect," Finn shouted back, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the templar.

The pair began yet another shouting match that Dagna swore was so loud even her ancestors had covered their ears.

"Enough!" she bellowed in a voice that dominated both men. Mouths still agape in mid-argument, they stopped and stared at her. "The both of you are like children! We have been given the opportunity to discover a great deal of lost knowledge here, and you two can do nothing but bicker! I for one am not going to let this slip away because you two morons can't put aside this constant battle of mage versus templar. If I have to lock you both in a room and do this project myself, I will. I didn't give up my cast only to be thwarted by you two imbeciles!"

Both of their mouths shut tight with a click as they stared at the furious dwarf. Her face was almost purple with rage and her hands shook, neither one of them had ever seen her angry and were taken aback by the sight. Finn made the mistake of opening his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a single sound, Dagna spun her head towards him and there was more than challenge etched on her intense face; it was dare. The mage thought twice and his eyes fell to the floor.

She then turned her attention to a jittery Ser Carroll. "Now, what is it that was so important that you needed to barrel through the door?"

"Oh right." Ser Carroll's blood shot eyes widened as he paced quickly toward the table. Setting

the tome down with a thud, he quickly turned to the section marked by a torn bit of cloth. A trembling hand prodded the eerie illustration laid out before them.

"_This_," he said firmly. "This is exactly what we saw the night the mage was killed." He looked back and forth between the two, expecting a negative jibe from Finn. Finding none, he continued. "The title alone is straight forward enough, _Dragon Cults_, but this right here is what threw me."

Flipping ahead a few dozen pages, he settled on another illustration. This one depicted a graphical description of a ritualistic branding. A deep incision was carved inside of the phalange in the pit, between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand. A special rod infused with lyrium was heated by a mage and was then used to brand the individual with a sigil. The blood from the wound was then collected and used to form a phylactery. On the page adjacent was a chart entitled _Known aspects of the ritual_.

"Remember the Chantry Mother I told you about? She had a particularly nasty scar in the exact same place. I remember staring at it every time I handed her a book. Looked like it was festering, it did. I was certain it was going to detach itself, jump off and eat my face, or something horrible like that." He shuttered briefly at the thought.

Dagna had begun sifting through the now completely disarrayed workroom, as Finn and Ser Carroll had their first civil discussion about the gross factor of the ritual. She returned, producing the codex wrapped in leather.

"Did it look like this?" she asked, quickly deferring to a hand drawn illustration. Upon comparing the two, it was no mistake that the illustration was a direct copy, with the added addition of the missing sigil.

"That's the one!" he shouted as if he were accusing the page. Quickly dousing his excitement, he muttered, "I have to leave."

Finn threw up his hands, "What do you mean you have to leave? We just had a major breakthrough and you have to leave?" His tone was exasperated but that didn't stop Ser Carroll from briskly exiting the room.

Dagna simply shrugged as he looked to her for support. "Why does he keep doing that? It's not as if he has somewhere to be." He twisted his face in concentration before his brows perked up. "Or maybe he does. Maybe he's out there gawking at beautiful women. I bet there are a lot of them," he paused, "Maybe I should go look for him." His feeble attempt was abruptly squashed by the dark look on Dagna's face.

A week went by while Alistair waited, helping the trio whenever possible and covering their tracks as best he could. Arl Eamon had remained patient, keeping his suspicions to himself. The king had begun to cringe whenever asked to speak in private, always ending their meetings abruptly with some excuse or another and then leaving the Arl stranded midway through a topic, mouth agape with words just falling onto absent ears. He and the desk had become quite close in the previous weeks, and he considered placing a crown on it and passing it off as the King. It wasn't as if the nobility would have noticed between all their bickering. They hardly noticed anything past their own noses these days anyway.

Despite his best efforts to procrastinate further about telling Arl Eamon the truth, he knew there was no more time to waste. Heavily sitting in an armchair, he swished around a bit of brandy before taking the last sip from his glass. Setting his face in stone determination, he set out to see Arl Eamon.

Dagna and Finn paced the waiting room outside the king's study in a nervous jitter, speaking back and forth between each other rapidly discussing their notes.

"Where have you been!" Dagna scolded as Ser Carroll bound into the room.

"Sorry, I was just-"

"What is that powder under your nose? Have you been eating cakes?" Finn asked suddenly noticing his stomach rumbling.

"No?" Ser Carroll wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Cookies then?" Finn's voice had hopeful ring to it.

"No! There are no cookies!" The templar snapped.

The trio sat in uncomfortable silence, listening to the muffled sounds of voices from the next room. All three of their heads shot up simultaneously as the clear voice of Arl Eamon echoed through the walls.

"What!" he shouted, followed by another muffled argument.

Dagna began to pace the room, while Ser Carroll picked nervously at his fingers. Finn sat staring straight ahead, half expecting the Arl to burst in and have them all executed on the spot.

The tension in the room was so thick it slowed time as mere seconds became hours. Their hearts skipped a beat as the heavy wooden door creaked open. Ser Ferren followed, a stern look etched into his brow. With one hand, he ushered them inside.

Alistair was standing behind a large ornate wooden desk, and he extended an arm gesturing towards the empty chairs in front of him. Arl Eamon remained seated, his mouth pulled into a tight frown, and he simply nodded through an empty glare.

Beads of sweat had begun to form on each of their brows. Dagna clutched their paperwork close to her chest. They must have looked like terrified baby nugs being brought to slaughter, for it was Arl Eamon who spoke first.

"Please forgive me if I appear somewhat disturbed. I have a rather unsettling history with mages." He forced his face to soften as he spoke.

"That's putting it mildly," Alistair said with a grimace as he folded his arms. "Please explain exactly what you have found," he continued, taking a seat behind the desk and leaning forward on his elbows.

All heads turned to Dagna, who upon realizing this, took a firm hold of the papers she was hugging and thrust them out in front of her.

"Oh! Right!" Her eyes lit up as she brushed aside trivial objects, making room to lay out their notes. The dwarf stood to the side in front of the desk and cleared her throat. "From what evidence we have gathered so far, it looks as if an ancient cult of dragon worshipers aims to bring forth an Old God."

"Why in the Maker's name would anyone want that?" Alistair questioned.

"Their off their nut! That's the reason," Ser Carroll chimed in snidely while looking off to the left without purpose.

Finn cocked his head at the templar and then back at Alistair before answering. "Well there is that, and the promise of the usual wealth and power, but yes, mostly because they're off their nut as Ser Carroll so eloquently put it."

The mage looked at Dagna, silently questioning whether he should continue. With a reassuring nod, he did so.

"We also did some research into the names of the two nobles that your companions accompanied on their way to the Circle Tower." Finn's eyes darted around the room. "The Lord and Lady Thalsian."

Arl Eamon's eyes narrowed in thought. "Now that you mention it, I had never remembered seeing their names on the list of Noels, but they did have an invitation none the less." He stroked the whiskers on his beard and looked back to the mage willing him to continue.

Finn began to pace the room slowly. "Thalsian is the name of the first of the magisters. He claimed to have contacted the Old God, Dumat. By doing so he acquired great knowledge, blood magic to be precise," he paused briefly as Arl Eamon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "With this knowledge he amassed great power, enough to establish an entire empire under his rule."

Dagna stepped in apologetically interrupting him. "We can't be exactly sure that they are who they claim to be. What we are sure of is that they have the ability to try it again."

Alistair leaned forward on the desk, "How does this involve Mira?" Arl Eamon raised an eye at him and the king coughed lightly into his fist. "Pardon me, Commander Mahariel, I mean."

The mage and the dwarf looked to each other as if unsure where to begin. Finn took the leather wrapped book and opened it. "This codex was probably what whomever destroyed the library was looking for."

"Lucky for us," Alistair said in an even tone.

"Perhaps." The low ominous voice of Ser Ferren caused their heads to turn in unison towards the large guard standing a foot taller than door.

Finn cleared his throat. "We have only just discovered the language; five different languages to be exact."

Alistair rocked back in his chair. "Why so many, and how do we find them?"

Finn took a deep breath, "What's left of the original magisters'knowledge has all but been destroyed. The Chantry has manipulated any knowledge they get, turning it into their favor. All they have left us with is a bastardized fairy tale of what really happened. They had all scriptures, and authors for that matter, destroyed. Anyone who possesses this knowledge does so in such secrecy that to find them would be impossible."

Arl Eamon watched as the King became agitated further. "I understand your concern for your friend, Alistair. But have you considered that maybe you are their intended target?" he said in a cool tone of voice.

"Actually, yes we did at first. It was all very exciting," Dagna said brightly before quickly lowering her eyes. "From what we have been able to decipher there are certain requirements of the intended sacrifice."

"Sacrifice! What sacrifice! You never said anything about any sacrifice!" Alistair blurted out, pushing himself forward. Save for Ser Ferren, who remained unmoved, the room jolted as he slammed his palms on the desk.

Finn and Dagna looked at each other searching for something to say.

"Well we only just discovered the language. It's primal at best, describing the rebirth of an old god," Finn continued nervously. "Actually the Shadow Book is written in five different languages."

Dagna picked a second book from the desk. "According to legend, an order of candidates was formed and trained, each member having their blood drawn and tested for compatibility. Those that were compatible moved on, those who were not compatible were killed. Or turned into abominations. From there, the remaining members were fed a concoction including the blood of the abominations. If they survived that, then more blood was taken. Here's where it gets complicated," Dagna said.

"Right, and now it gets complicated," Alistair sighed.

"First bit did remind me of what I have heard about the Joining," Finn chimed in. Alistair gave him a sharp puzzled look. "I can read you know. Ever pick up a few dozen history books and read them? The bits and pieces all add up if look hard enough," Finn scoffed.

"Anyway, this right was used well before the Grey Wardens existed," Dagna said. "It's no wonder they have the same properties."

Alistair took a few deep breaths trying to stop his hands from shaking. "So what you're saying is, this cult -" he said after a few minutes of silence.

"_Summa Nura_," Finn added quickly, cutting him off mid sentence.

"Bless you," Ser Carroll added sarcastically.

Finn raised an unamused eyebrow at the templar before turning back to face Alistair. "No, _Summa Nura_, it's the name they have given to their organization. It translates roughly to 'they who are deprived of light'."

"Well that's just cheery," the king groaned, putting a hand to his forehead and wiping moisture from his brow. "So this Dragon Cult, _Summa Nura_, thinks they can raise an Old God and bring on yet another Blight? Again! As if the last one wasn't enough."

Finn and Dagna exchanged yet another strenuous glance before answering. "Yes, something like that."

"Well, they must be stopped; we should head out as soon as possible." Alistair stood from the desk but before he could utter another word, Arl Eamon cut him off.

"Let's not be too hasty now Alistair. It is not the King of Ferelden's job to hunt down a band of rogue cultists because you think your _friend_ is in danger. There are Grey Wardens in Orlais for matters such as these." The Arl tried his best to keep a cool resolve, one that Alistair would hear none of.

"It's not because I believe Mir-, Commander Mahariel, is in peril." He sneered at the Arl. "After all she did for the country, I think she can handle a handful of cultists who believe they can use her as bait."

He stiffened his lips into a hard line as he spoke. "I am a king and a Grey Warden; it is my duty to rule and to protect this country," he finished in a stern tone.

Arl Eamon sat forward in his chair, lacing his fingers in front of him as he spoke. "You are a king first and a Grey Warden second, it is your duty to contact the other Grey Wardens and let them handle this matter."

They could almost hear Alistair's blood begin to boil as his cheeks flushed with crimson anger as they waited on baited breath for the moment the king exploded.

A wash of relief spread over them as he politely asked them to allow him and the Arl to speak in private.

"You know I simply cannot allow you to gallivanting off through the country side on some wild notion that you believe there is a dangerous cult of dragon worshipers." He stared at Alistair, his eyes set firmly on him.

Alistair frowned. "It's not a wild notion," he said waving his hands in emphasis. "If they're correct and such a thing does exist, not only is my friend and fellow Grey Warden in danger, but all of Thedas as well." His face had hardened in anger and frustration.

"I understand this; however your place is here." The Arl's words had fallen on deaf ears as Alistair's mind was set. He massaged his temples in a feeble attempt to rub away all the visions swarming his head.

"You're probably right," he sighed. "I'll need some time to think on this, and if you don't mind, I think I will turn in early." His posture relaxed as he took a deep breath.

Arl Eamon stood gracefully from his seat. "Very well. I believe it is in all of our best interests to get a good night's rest. After all, this day has been quite trying."

"I shall see you in the morning Eamon. Sleep well." Alistair bid him a good evening as the two men departed.

As he was rounding the corner to his chambers, Ser Ferren caught step with him, handing him a missive.

"This just arrived for you Sire." He slipped the thin parchment, sealed with a wax griffin, into the king's hand. Hastily, he tore it open. The contents of this missive were even more disturbing then the last; a new set of symptoms, and now hunted by templars and an overzealous Chantry mother to make matters worse. Alistair had made up his mind.

"I thought the king was going to kill us all at one point." Ser Carroll exhaled in exasperated relief. The trio was pacing about their own sitting room nervously chattering away.

"What do you suppose we should do now?" Dagna asked tentatively, jerking her head around as a voice came from behind them.

"We're leaving." Alistair had appeared from behind a long tapestry.

"Maker's buoyant bosom!" Ser Carroll put a hand to his heart as if to stop it from exiting his chest. "You scared the brown out of me."

Alistair smirked. "Meet me around the back of the stables in three hours, and tell no one." With that, he disappeared again, leaving them bereft of their nerves.

All except Dagna, who wore a wide grin plastered across her face. "Oh, this is going to be so exciting!"

A/N- Thanks again to ZevGirl for her unwavering beta-ness!


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